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The 

WIFE DECIDES 

A NOVEL 

V By 

SYDNEY WHARTON 

w 



Illustrations By 
JOSEPH CUMMINGS CHASE 

Frontispiece By 
J. KNOWLES HARE, Jr. ' 


G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 




Copyright, 1911, By 
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


Book One 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Nora’s Arrival 9 

II. Over the Teacups 15 

III. The Truth from Leslie 22 

IV. Nora Perplexes Edith 30 

V. A Visit is Made 38 

VI. Nora Thinks It Over 47 

VII. A Second Meeting 52 

VIII. An Informal Luncheon 59 

IX. Edith Ponders 70 

X. An Amazing Marriage 77 

XI. A Debatable Point 87 

XII. Nora’s Friends are Worried 94 

XIII. The Children’s Hour 102 

XIV. Love versus Letters no 

XV. Sheeda Talks 117 

XVI. Mrs. Wayne Acts for the Best 123 

XVII. The Rift in the Lute 131 

XVIII. The Wife Decides 137 

XIX. The Divorce Mill 144 


CONTENTS 


Book Two 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. An Earthly Paradise 1 5 1 

II. Love and Marriage 160 

III. News from Home 168 

IV. Wanda Makes a Friend in Druce. . . 178 

V. A Woman of the World 188 

VI. Druce Thinks about Work 199 

VII. Nora Reviews the Situation 206 

VIII. A Tiny Ripple 214 

IX. Wanda Writes a Letter 224 

X. She’s Only a Child 234 

XI. Druce Begs the Question 243 

XII. Druce in San Francisco 253 

XIII. Miss Jessica Discourses 262 

XIV. Mrs. McAllister tries to Write Again 270 

XV. Why Did She Do It? 278 

XVI. Working Under Pressure 288 

XVII. Settling the Question 297 

XVIII. The Measure Meted 305 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


As if from a great distance a voice made itself 

heard 26 

“If I ever find you in my house again — it will 

be the worse for you. Go!” 136 

“My life has been one long, bitter mistake!”. . 306 


s. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


BOOK ONE 
THE SOWING 

I 

nora's arrival 

Edith Malcolm was one of the chosen few of the 
idle rich, who worked at her profession of author- 
ship for sheer love of it. Unlike most people, she 
religiously believed in cultivating the rare gifts that 
God had given her. 

Her mother died when she was a child, and then 
she became her father’s companion and mainstay. 
Some two years ago, at his death, he left her sole 
mistress at ‘Gleneyrie,’ his magnificent estate on the 
Hudson. 

During a part of her father’s life, it was their 
custom to move into New York for the winter; 
their summers were spent either at Newport, or 
else in traveling abroad. But now, all was changed, 
and Edith found herself enabled to continue her 
literary work without interruption. 

As she re-read the yellow slip, announcing the 


10 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


arrival of Nora Sherwood, she wondered whether 
this new element in her life would prevent her from 
enjoying the same degree of liberty as before. 

Miss Malcolm looked at the clock on the mantel- 
piece, by which she had been standing; then her 
glance rested momentarily on the cheerful wood fire 
burning below, idly considering the dancing flames, 
and realizing how pleasant their warmth was, for 
the first chill of autumn was in the air. 

She had still ten minutes before the dog-cart 
would arrive, so she leisurely continued her way 
across the room. 

It was lined with shelves, containing books of 
reference; there was, too, a substantial desk, in 
picturesque disarray, and though the room was al- 
most monastic in its severity, the one feminine 
touch disclosed itself in a cheval glass, which one 
could not help thinking was rather out of place. 

As she passed within range of this, she paused 
instinctively, and critically examined her reflection. 
The inevitable, mysterious adjustment of her fur 
toque followed; then, a pulling out and re-settling 
of hatpins, a deft touch to her veil, a smoothing 
down of the waistline, and a studied turn which 
brought a three-quarter view of her trim figure into 
a better light; all this made her realize that there 
was something in a French cut after all : which goes 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


ii 


to prove that Miss Malcolm was delightfully femi- 
nine and altogether charming, besides being a clever 
woman of the world and a well-known literary 
light. 

Satisfied with a final survey, she seated herself 
at her desk, placing the folded telegram under one 
of the leather corners of the blotter. Putting down 
her small bag beside her, she gazed abstractedly 
across the room, her thoughts upon Nora Sher- 
wood. Soon her mind turned to the girl’s mother, 
whose friend she had been through so many years 
of that unfortunate woman’s life. 

How well she remembered the day when Esther 
had come and confessed that she had deceived her 
husband, how he had found her out, refusing to 
pardon her, and begging Edith to stand by her ! 

Esther Sherwood, in bringing her unhappy story 
to a close, had said that her husband had promised 
to make her a substantial allowance, provided she 
left the country forever! Thus dismissed, the 
wretched wife had no alternative but to leave his 
house, taking the little girl with her, to which her 
father made no objection; indeed, he had never 
shown any love for the child, who had been left 
entirely to the mercies of governesses up to her 
twelfth year. 

Edith continued to be Esther’s friend during the 


12 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


years that followed, and many letters were received 
from Mrs. Sherwood from various small continen- 
tal towns. It was clear that though the unfortunate 
woman felt her degradation most keenly, her con* 
science made her realize the necessity of keeping her 
child in ignorance of the past. This decided her to 
place the young girl in a convent near Paris, where 
she remained until her twenty-fourth year. During 
this period, in desperation, Esther abandoned scenes 
where the principal events of her wretched life had 
been passed, only to begin in fresh fields a series of 
restless, feverish journeyings, trying to forget, until 
at last death mercifully claimed her. 

Mrs. Sherwood’s last letter before she died had 
ended with an appeal to her friend to take under 
her protection the child whom she insisted must be 
kept forever from all knowledge of her mother’s 
downfall. 

The promise was given, although Edith felt mor- 
ally certain that it would entail a sacrifice on her 
part, and now, with the orphaned daughter coming 
to make her home with Edith, she was seized with 
a sudden qualm of apprehension, which increased 
in intensity as the prospect of her new responsi- 
bilities drew nearer. 

Would she succeed? Would the girl respond? 
How would it all end? 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


13 


Just then she heard the wheels of the cart ap- 
proaching, so she was saved from further specula- 
tion. She gave a sigh of relief, for the horse she 
was to drive, being both young and fresh, would 
be a tangible battle to wage, instead of an imagin- 
ary encounter. 

A few minutes later, she was bowling along 
under the leafy bower formed by the interlacing of 
the buttonwood trees which outlined the driveway. 

Long before she reached the station, some three 
miles distant, she had brought the sturdy, young 
animal down to a more subdued gait, and smiled, 
drawing a long breath, partly of enjoyment, and 
partly of relief, for she was unaccustomed to de- 
feat, and — it had been hard work, this time. 

Shortly afterward, she was walking along the 
platform, awaiting the arrival of the train, her 
horse being held by the young son of the station- 
master. She had just time to nod a smiling greet- 
ing to him, when the whistle sounded, and the train 
came in. 

She scanned the faces of the descending passen- 
gers, and presently saw the figure of Miss Sher- 
wood coming toward her. Before she had time to 
ask herself why Nora was in grey, instead of the 
conventional black, the girl was by her side, and 
yielding to the impulse of the moment, she stepped 


14 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


forward. Taking her in her arms, she warmly 
kissed her. 

“I have not seen you for eight years — ” she said, 
and then, abruptly; ‘‘tea will be ready for us — we 
had best hurry !” 

The break in her sentence was not due to her 
anxiety for her usual cup of tea, but to an enigmat- 
ical expression, which she had surprised in the 
other’s eyes, and which, for once, she could not 
fathom. 


II 


OVER THE TEACUPS 

An half hour later, the two women were seated in 
the drawing-room, furtively studying each other 
across a well-appointed tea-table, but it was Nora 
who first lowered her eyes, her half smile going no 
further than the muscles at the corners of her mouth. 

Miss Malcolm, realizing that she had been gazing 
rather too directly at her friend, began to speak in 
her usual pleasant conversational tone. 

“I must confess, my dear,” she remarked, as if 
pursuing the tag end of some unspoken thought; 
“I hardly knew when to expect you — ” 

“Why not?” asked the other, opening her eyes 
a trifle wider than usual ; “Didn’t you get my tele- 
gram? I asked Cynthia to be sure to send it!” 

“Oh, yes!” answered Edith quickly; “but I meant 
— after your mother’s death.” 

“I understand,” exclaimed Nora; “but — I must 
tell you why I am not in mourning — I saw you no- 
ticed it — ” 

“Yes, Nora, I did, but naturally I didn’t think it 
would be in good taste — ” 


i6 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“To speak of it? Well — perhaps not,” mused 
Nora; “though I don’t suppose you understand. 
My training — the foreign view — it’s all so different, 
you see — ” 

“But — after only eight months — ” began Edith 
helplessly, and somewhat confusedly. 

“Yes, I know,” interposed the younger woman, 
with a touch of impatience; “but how could I be 
expected to feel the death of a — person I hardly 
knew ?” 

“Oh, my dear! You could have shown the con- 
ventional amount of respect!” suggested Edith 
gently. 

“Would that necessarily follow in this case ?” was 
the unexpected rejoinder, and then, as if she felt she 
had created a false impression; “I really knew her 
so very — slightly, when all is said and done. Be- 
sides,” she ended laconically; “you wouldn’t wish 
me to act a lie, would you?” 

“Of course not!” answered Edith mechanically, 
and was silent. 

She was beginning to grasp the difficulties of the 
trust she had undertaken, and recognized that there 
were to be no easy limitations. 

She watched her friend who had risen, and 
crossed the room. She reflected deeply, as a grace- 
ful, willowy figure outlined itself against the long, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


1 7 


French window leading out to the red-tiled terrace. 

What would she not do for poor Esther’s child! 
Surely it should be easy to transfer to the daughter 
the loyalty she had once given the mother! 

At present there was a wide gulf which must be 
bridged before she and this young girl could meet 
on some common ground. 

Nora opened the window, and stepped out on the 
terrace, where she walked slowly up and down, 
stopping from time to time to admire the green 
slopes of velvety lawn that stretched down to the 
fringe of woods below. Edith, as she caught frag- 
mentary glimpses of her, wondered what was really 
in the girl’s mind. 

She looked up brightly, as Nora re-entered the 
room. 

“I have found you out, my friend. I took a peep 
at your workshop.” 

“Yes, I write,” said Edith, smiling at the trite 
expression; “what do you think of it?” 

“It struck me as a room that was intended purely 
for work — the room of a woman who was in earn- 
est!” 

“Yes, but — have you ever tried to write?” 

“Only a few trifles — they are hardly worth men- 
tioning — scraps I dashed off in the convent, but of 
course, one is so limited when every line — every 


i8 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


word — has to be read by a sister. You see, I was 
frightfully repressed in my ideas, because I didn’t 
dare to say what I really felt.” 

“Of course, but — I should like to see some of 
your work, that is — if you have no objection.” 

“Thank you so much, but I’m afraid you’ll find 
my efforts ridiculously crude; besides, one’s life — 
in the world — must be so very different — I’ve had 
such a limited experience, but — I imagine it’s more 
— unconventional — ” 

“It is totally unlike the life you have lived in the 
convent; however,” Edith added, “one has to ad- 
just one’s standard to altered conditions.” 

“Oh, yes!” agreed the younger woman glibly, 
but Edith saw that she failed to grasp her mean- 
ing. 

“I know how hard it is — to understand — ” con- 
tinued Miss Malcolm hesitatingly. 

Nora detected an altogether different significance 
in the subtle modulation of her friend’s voice, and 
was quick to take advantage of it. 

“I see,” she urged; “I really do!” But Edith 
recognized the lack of absolute conviction in her 
companion’s inflection, and sighed gently. 

The entrance of a servant to remove the tea-tray 
was a welcome interruption, and made Miss Mal- 
colm realize that a rather prolonged silence had 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


19 


followed the ending of their somewhat fragment- 
ary conversation. 

“You mentioned Cynthia a few minutes ago,” she 
said; “who is she?” 

“She was a friend of the Mother Superior,” an- 
swered Nora; “and we took a fancy to each other. 
She asked me to travel with her, and she acted as 
my chaperone on the steamer coming over.” 

“I’m glad you managed so well,” smiled Edith, 
but went on; “My house was open to you at any 
time you wished to come, as 1 wrote you, but — I 
gave very little attention to the actual details of 
your journey home, I’m afraid.” 

“I didn’t give much thought to that either. 
You see, I’ve been accustomed to look after my- 
self — ” 

“I see, but — who is Cynthia?” repeated Edith; 
“you haven’t told me yet.” 

“She is a Mrs. Reynolds Wayne — she is about 
five years older than I am, and she comes from 
somewhere near Philadelphia. That’s all I can 
tell you about her, except that I like her.” 

“That always seems to me half the battle,” mused 
Edith ; “I am glad,” she continued more earnestly ; 
“that you were able to find a friend like Mrs. Wayne 
— it made your return to your native country more 
intimate — more of a real home-coming!” 


20 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Miss Sherwood, instead of replying at once, 
laughed lightly, remarking that that, aspect of the 
case had never struck her before. 

“I loved the few months traveling we had to- 
gether so much,” she said; “in fact, it was delight- 
ful to go about with her — she was so charming — so 
well-informed, — so different from, well — my 
mother, for instance.” 

Miss Malcolm glanced sharply at her friend. 

“It is pleasant to find a congenial friend,” she 
said dryly; “especially for an ocean voyage.” 

“I didn’t see much of Cynthia — she was sea-sick 
most of the way,” answered Nora smiling in her 
peculiar fashion. 

“That was a pity, wasn’t it, for you must have 
been lonely — unless you were sick too.” 

“No, I wasn’t — and I managed — to have a very 
good time.” This time Miss Malcolm was not mis- 
taken. There was something in the girl’s tone that 
clearly indicated a mystery, and a palpable attempt 
at concealment. Was the girl as open as she had at 
first seemed, or could there be anything which would 
have to be discovered — ferreted out ? 

“Yes,” she replied tentatively, feeling the neces- 
sity of proceeding cautiously. 

“I make friends easily, you see — I have the gift 
pf being able to gauge a person the minute I meet 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


21 


him,” continued Miss Sherwood; “it’s a very con- 
venient thing to be able to do.” 

“Unless one makes a mistake. Then, I think it 
would be apt to be disastrous.” 

“Oh, what an idea! That would be too awful!” 
exclaimed Nora with a light laugh, and a pretended 
shudder. 

“It might be well to remember that you are not 
infallible,” remarked Edith, and they both laughed; 
“But it’s hardly necessary to remind you of that.” 

“It’s very good of you to tell me my faults!” 
murmured the other sighing gently; “but, by the 
way, I had almost forgotten — I expect — a man to 
come to see me — about tea-time — to-morrow. 
Have you any objection?” 

“Not at all! I wish you to feel at home here, 
and to invite any one you want,” answered Edith, 
rising. “Who is he?” 

Nora Sherwood rose too, and faced her friend. 

“It’s Leslie Griswold!” she said, her eyes refus- 
ing to meet Edith’s; “do you know him?” 

“Yes! I know all about him — ” answered Miss 
Malcolm ; “but — what is this man to you ? He is — ” 

“Oh! I know all about him too,” announced 
Nora; “because, I’m — engaged to him — that’s all!” 

She tossed her head, and laughed, but Edith gazed 
at her in horrified astonishment. 


Ill 


THE TRUTH FROM LESLIE 

“I have a story to tell you !” said Leslie abruptly. 
“Yes — go on!” answered Nora; “what is it?” 
The two were sitting side by side on a bench in 
the grounds of ‘Gleneyrie,’ the next afternoon. 

“It’s about a woman,” continued Leslie gravely; 
“and the causes which brought about her illness.” 
“What was her name?” 

“Her name — Lucy!” replied Leslie quietly; “and 
I am telling you her story, because you must know 
it. Will you listen to me — will you hear me out — 
until the end?” 

“Why, yes! But I don’t understand — ” 

“You will understand all when I have finished.” 
And Nora wondered why his voice quavered slight- 

iy- 

“She was married at the age of twenty-two to a 
man a few years her senior,” continued Griswold 
steadily. “She had been ill — very ill when her child 
was born — and the child died after only a week’s 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


23 


illness. The woman’s miraculous recovery sur- 
prised even the doctor, but the shock was too much 
for her, and — she has been helplessly insane — until 
recently — very recently. 

“Sometimes she has been calmer, at others sub- 
ject to violent attacks, and then it has been neces- 
sary to keep her forcibly under restraint until the 
fearful paroxysms were over. 

“During the past year she has seemed to get 
worse, her fits of insanity have increased in inten- 
sity, and her health has become more and more 
precarious. The nurses had been told by the doc- 
tors that the unfortunate woman would never be 
better, and finally they decided that the last struggle 
was not far off, when the end would come in coma 
and — death.” 

Leslie’s voice sank to a minor key, but presently 
straightening himself by an effort, he continued his 
narrative. 

“One day a sudden and unexpected movement on 
the part of the patient caused the nurse on duty, 
Miss Hill, to rise and move toward the bed. She 
bent over and saw that the woman’s eyelids were 
quivering, and that her long, lean fingers were pick- 
ing feverishly at, the bed-quilt. She turned away 
to press the electric button at the side of the mantel- 
piece, this being the signal agreed upon when the 


24 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


nurse in attendance considered her patient at the 
point of dissolution.” 

“Why are you telling me this story?” broke in 
Nora, her voice trembling. 

“Be patient, dear!” answered Leslie gently; “and 
let me go on — I must tell you all!” 

“How oddly you say that!” murmured Nora 
solemnly. 

“The eyes of the woman were now open, for the 
nurse had hastened back to the bedside, the weak 
voice of her patient having made her retrace her 
steps. She noticed that the expression of the eyes 
was calm, and that the usual glitter had gone. She 
could not understand it. What could have hap- 
pened? Was this the clearing of the tired brain 
before death claimed its own, or what could it be?” 

“Who was this woman, Leslie?” 

“I shall tell you — in a few minutes. I want to 
end my story — before — I forget it. She called to 
the nurse, and 9aid that she wished to say some- 
thing to her. The nurse, who saw that her patient 
was absolutely normal, was only too anxious to lis- 
ten, so drawing up a chair, seated herself by the 
bedside. From what Miss Hill told me, the con- 
versation between them ran in this way. Lucy be- 
gan to speak, and told the nurse that she had been 
very ill — for years perhaps, but that now she was 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


25 


better. She continued to say that her mind had 
been clouded, that she had been violent — when she 
had wanted to hurt some one — she couldn’t re- 
member who, but — that she had been crazy to kill 
him. Now all was changed. She confessed that 
she had loved her husband, but that she had felt 
there was a difference in his love for her from what 
she felt for him. After a spasm of pain, the poor 
woman went on to say, that after her baby was 
born, she had been very ill, and that when she re- 
covered, she learned of the child’s death. That 
was the beginning of it all, for after that, she 
couldn’t remember clearly, but now, the sense of 
unreality was gone, and she knew that she was get- 
ting better. She was weak, at least the body was, 
but her mind was clear. It was then that she re- 
quested the nurse to send for the doctors.” 

“And — what was their verdict?” asked Nora, 
hardly conscious that she had spoken aloud. 

“That she would recover absolutely — unless 
something totally unforeseen should occur!” 

Nora was silent. Presently she looked up into 
Leslie’s troubled eyes. 

“Who was this woman, dear?” 

“God forgive me! She was — she is my — wife!” 

As the voice of the man ceased speaking, Nora 
suddenly seemed unconscious of the lovely walks 


26 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


through which they had strolled during the after- 
noon, of the statuary at various points, of the 
flowers and shrubs, of the soft, springy turf, and 
the song of birds; everything had faded from her 
mind, save the fact that she was standing alone, for 
surely the man must have been removed, torn away 
from her, for now the two were as far apart as the 
poles. 

As if from a great distance, a voice made itself 
heard, which still could force her to listen to its 
pleading. 

“You see how it is, my darling !” it murmured 
appealingly; “when the poor soul returned from 
the dark shadows to what was worse than death — 
I did what I could — I saw that she received proper 
care — I could do no more. As time passed my life 
grew into a condition of routine — the details of my 
wife’s illness interested me less and less, until I felt 
that my marriage had never been — that I was ac- 
tually free — free to love again — to begin my life 
anew — to make a fresh start. It was then that I 
met you. Ah! try to understand and — forgive! 
Before I sailed for home, I heard on the highest 
authority that my poor wife’s days were numbered, 
indeed, I honestly believed I should hear that she 
was dead when I arrived in New York. Then it 
was that I spoke to you — then that you listened 



AS IF FROM A GREAT DISTANCE A VOICE MADE ITSELF HEARD. 

Page 26 . 

































































THE WIFE DECIDES 


27 


and — answered. This is the truth, as God is my 
Judge — or else I could not have said to you all that 
I did — from the fulness of my heart! You under- 
stand, don’t you?” 

‘‘Yes, I understand!” but the answering tone was 
so soulless that the man turned to his companion, as 
if to speak. The hopeless misery in the girl’s eyes 
stopped him, though the words were trembling for 
utterance on his white lips. 

He had loved her but he had never realized how 
much, and until now, he had never guessed how 
much she loved him. He knew what it cost him to 
give her up, and the pain that was hers! It was 
cruel — unbearable ! 

Nora rose slowly and painfully, leaning against 
the bench for support, one arm stretched along its 
back, the other hanging like a dead weight at her 
side. 

“I said I understood, and — I do understand!” 

Leslie listened almost without breathing, for he 
knew that he was about to hear what was final. 

“I cannot blame you, and — I forgive you — from 
my heart. What else could you have done? The 
fault was not yours. It was ordained that this 
should happen — long before we both were born.” 

The girl’s voice had grown strained and weary, 
but she went bravely on. 


28 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


‘*You must listen to me — you must not interrupt. 
Be merciful, and let me finish what I have to say! 
You never loved your wife, but — you did what you 
could for her — your duty. You are a good man !” 

The woman seemed overwhelmed by a sudden 
tenderness, but choked it in its inception, and con- 
tinued to speak a trifle more harshly. 

“You did your duty once — you must do it again! 
You must go back to your wife! You must give 
her that — tenderness which is — her due — to make 
up for the long period of darkness — to bring back 
to her — the happiness that was once — hers !” 

Nora’s voice was all at once tinged with a touch 
of impatience. 

“You must never let her know that you do not 
love her. It is your bounden duty — it is her right 
to have your love! I entreat you to do this — for 
my sake! Henceforth, dearest Leslie, we can be 
but memories — each to the other. Go ! I can’t en- 
dure any more!” 

She spoke in a whisper, and as her voice ceased, 
her head sank slowly, until it rested on her breast. 

Griswold sprang to his feet, his hands clenched 
tightly at his side. For one lingering moment he 
gazed at the woman he loved but had lost ; then he 
turned and walked swiftly away, not daring to look 
back, for fear his courage should fail him. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


29 


For a space the girl did not move, then she stag- 
gered forward, as if she felt there must be some- 
thing still left undone — unfinished. She paused, 
until with a quick movement, she sank to her knees, 
burying her face in her outstretched arms, and 
broke into unrestrained weeping. 


IV 


NORA PERPLEXES EDITH 

Edith was forced to confess that she was com- 
pletely at sea in her estimate of Nora Sherwood’s 
character. First, because there had been a lack of 
spontaneity in the girl herself, and again, because 
of the frivolous touch Nora had given to the an- 
nouncement of her engagement. 

Edith had not had an opportunity of making 
further observations, for the day after, Nora had 
been busy superintending the unpacking of her 
trunks, and had given Edith the impression she 
wished to be alone in the afternoon. 

Miss Malcolm respected Nora’s wish for solitude, 
and was so occupied with her literary work, that she 
came in late for tea. She saw that two of the cups 
had been used, and lifting the teapot, discovered 
that it was almost empty. She rang the bell. 

When the servant brought the fresh tea, she told 
Edith that the young lady was somewhere about 
the grounds. Miss Malcolm thanked the maid, and 
finished her tea. 

She walked out on the terrace, looking in the 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


3i 


direction of the woods, but thinking that Nora 
might still wish to be undisturbed, returned to her 
study to finish her work. 

Later on she was informed by her maid that 
Miss Sherwood had a headache, and had gone to 
bed. She sent her love to Miss Malcolm, and hoped 
to join her in the evening if she felt up to the ex- 
ertion of getting up. There was nothing to worry 
about — she was only tired from the long journey, 
and rest and quiet were all she needed. 

On the afternoon of, the second day, Nora not yet 
having made an appearance, Edith determined to 
investigate. She sent word that she would like 
to see her, but Nora’s maid who met her at the door 
told Edith that her mistress wished to rest a little 
while longer — that she felt better, and would come 
downstairs after dinner. 

When Edith had finished her coffee, she picked 
up a book to occupy herself while waiting for Nora, 
glanced over it, but being unable to fix her attention 
on it, tossed it aside impatiently. She got up and 
began to pace the room. She felt annoyed without 
having any definite cause for such an unusual emo- 
tion, except a rather vague sense that she was being 
baffled. 

Had Nora really been ill, or was there any other 
reason for her absence? 


32 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


She had said she would come down after dinner; 
it was after dinner, long after dinner now, and yet 
she did not come. What could be the matter ? She 
was determined to find out. 

She rang the bell, but thought it might be a mis- 
take to send a message by a servant. It might give 
rise to needless gossip, so she changed her mind, 
and bade the maid remove the tray. She waited 
until she had left the room before she made any 
further move. Then she crossed the room, and 
stood by the fire-place, her back to the door, and 
one slippered foot resting lightly on the bar of the 
fire-guard. Surely the coast was clear now! 

A rustling of silk made her turn. She caught a 
glimpse of her friend’s figure standing in the door- 
way, holding on the curtain. She saw that the girl 
was pale, and that her attitude was stiff and un- 
natural. 

Something was amiss. A change had taken 
place, and — after Leslie Griswold’s visit! Had he 
told her the truth, and had she been made ill by it, 
or had Griswold merely been amusing himself with 
Nora, and had she found him out? Which was it? 

Nora came forward. Edith took her hand, and 
without a word led her to a chair by the fire. 

Miss Malcolm returned to her former place by 
the mantel-piece, and pillowing her chin in her hand, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


33 


gazed thoughtfully down into the bed of glowing 
embers. 

Then she glanced timidly at Nora, but the girl’s 
lifeless expression troubled her, so she looked away 
again, and patiently waited for her to speak. 

Presently the girl raised her head, and began to 
speak, quickly, feverishly, as if she feared to be 
interrupted. 

“I have had a shock!” she said, twisting a ring 
aimlessly about on her finger ; “and I think it would 
comfort me to tell you about it.” 

She glanced up earnestly, but with a certain air 
of diffidence, as she pressed her lips convulsively 
together, but as she read assent in her friend’s eye, 
lowered her own, and continued to speak. 

“I told you the other day of my engagement — 
and since then, I have learned the truth, but — it was 
not Leslie’s fault — it was not his fault. I feel cer- 
tain you have known about his — wife — but what 
will be news to you is, that she has suddenly re- 
covered her reason — ” 

“What!” exclaimed Edith, for the moment 
stirred from her usual serenity; “Is it really true?” 

“Yes, and the doctors consider it a most mir- 
aculous cure.” 

“And — he came to tell you about it.” 

“Yes, he came to tell me about it. You have no 


34 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


idea what it cost him to say it, for he loved me very 
dearly — and I admired his courage more than I can 
express/’ 

“You love him — still?” asked Edith finally; “I 
am very sorry for you, dear! You have had your 
first bitter experience in life;” she murmured softly. 
“If there is anything I could do to lessen your grief, 
God knows I would do it!” 

“I thought I might rely upon you — I mean, I 
hoped you would have something to — suggest!” 

“What do you mean, my dear Nora? I am afraid 
I scarcely understand — ” 

“Why — just this!” broke in the other impetuous- 
ly, meeting her friend’s eyes for the first time; “I 
hoped you could — help me to — forget.” 

“Do you think anyone could do that?” inquired 
Edith, noticing a momentary return of the Sphinx- 
like expression which had puzzled her at their first 
meeting; “I’m afraid that would be an impossibility 
— unless you are deceiving yourself. But — if you 
are sincere — I might be able to help you — to take 
you — out of yourself.” 

“What do you mean by saying, ‘if you are sin- 
cere’?” 

Edith evaded giving a direct answer, for she was 
unprepared to cavil or argue the question at present. 
She preferred to sum up her impressions rather 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


35 


than to run the risk of committing a fatal error of 
judgment by going ahead too quickly. 

Here was a girl of apparent simplicity. This 
had been the first impression, until the question of 
Nora’s mother intruded itself. Then it was that 
she had weighed critically the girl’s character to see 
whether the delicate scales had shifted their posi- 
tion. For the moment she had come to the conclusion 
there was no appreciable change. 

The next step was to consider what effect her 
convent training had had on an evidently suscepti- 
ble nature. One thing was clear: such a life had 
taught the girl to differentiate, to analyze her in- 
dividual sensations, and therefore to bring them 
into too great prominence. It was a dangerous 
process ! 

Now a new phase had been added, which needed 
further and careful consideration. 

“I must confess I don’t understand your point 
of view,” she said, recognizing a subtle change in 
the girl; “and I think you do me an injustice when 
you put me in the position of appearing to doubt 
the truth of your assertions ! Have you any reason 
for doing so?” 

“No!” answered Nora enigmatically; “but I can 
only say that I am sorry. You are making it hard 
for me too — you are putting me in a false position 


3 ^ 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


— when — I am really throwing myself on your 
mercy !” 

Edith could not help smiling, for Nora had sud- 
denly revealed herself as both feminine and delight- 
fully unsophisticated, for only a very young woman 
could have made such a speech. 

“My dear Nora!” she ventured; “I think that 
is unworthy of you. You are reversing the tables 
with a vengeance. I shall forget most of the things 
you have said, except that you have asked for my 
help. Now, in what way, may I be of service to 
you?” 

“I am glad you are willing to overlook my nasty 
show of temper — it is really very noble of you to 
do so. Why — my one thought was — that — this 
would be a good time — I mean would you feel like 
looking over some of my work, and you could tell 
me if you think I could ever succeed in — litera- 
ture?” 

“I shall be very glad to do so,” answered Edith, 
and she wondered whether the girl’s request was 
sincere. 

“That is settled then,” interjected Nora; “of 
course, I don’t want to interfere with your own 
work, but what hour could you give me to- 
morrow ?” 

“After tea, if that will suit you.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


37 


“You have been very kind, Edith!” said Nora, 
“and you have really succeeded in changing my 
point of view already, which is all I can expect for 
the present.” 

“Good-night!” echoed Edith, and smiled. 

As Nora turned and crossed the room, Miss 
Malcolm noticed that the girl’s carriage had re- 
gained its elasticity. She admitted that there was 
a certain peculiar grace about the young girl which 
give her an alluring, most seductive charm. 

As she considered this, she reluctantly made up 
her mind that this element was more purely physic- 
al than subtle, and then she sighed. 

But — she thought, until Nora is conscious of this 
dangerous power, there was nothing to fear. It 
would be Edith’s task to keep her in ignorance of it. 


V 


A VISIT IS MADE 

Eliot Gordon was a genial elderly gentleman of 
the old school. 

Because of a great interest in gardening which 
they had enjoyed in common for a number of years, 
Edith had endeared herself to the old man, and 
often drove over to interchange ideas with him on 
this mutually fascinating pursuit. 

Her knowledge of the artistic side being finer 
than his, he found her advice invaluable, as he knew 
more about purely material questions involved, such 
as in the present case, the preparing of beds for 
actual planting. 

He was smoking a pipe reflectively, his eyes rov- 
ing from the bed he had just finished raking to the 
box of assorted bulbs and back again. If she were 
only here now to help him decide ! 

A young man in golfing costume approached the 
outer edge of another bed nearby, but Mr. Gordon 
had his back turned, and he did not hear him, for 
his footsteps were noiseless on the lawn. 

A low laugh made the elder man look around 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


39 


impatiently. When he saw that it was his nephew, 
he resumed his work without any comment, for 
that mocking sound jarred on his nerves. He knelt 
again by the box of bulbs, puffing furiously, as he 
did so. 

“How much do you pay for those bulbs ?” in- 
quired Bradford Hoyt, his expression changing 
from amusement to one of shrewdness. 

Eliot Gordon told him, but did not look in his 
nephew’s direction. 

“I shouldn’t think it would pay,” was the dry 
comment; “it seems to me a very poor investment!” 

“I can quite understand that, but can’t you ever 
consider anything except from the point of view 
of cold cash?” 

“No. When I buy a thing, I don’t pay any more 
for it than I can help, and when I sell anything, I 
get all I can out of the other fellow.” 

“Yes, that’s your way, I know!” rejoined Gor- 
don, as he held up and examined an early Peony 
bulb; “and yet — you know as much if not more 
about business than anyone I ever knew!” 

“Considering I have practically devoted my life 
to it, it doesn’t seem strange that I should have 
learned a thing or two, and — it’s not often that I 
get fooled.” 

“I’d be willing to bet there isn’t a man who could 


4 o 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


do that,” said his uncle as he looked about for his 
trowel. 

As a matter of fact he was proud of his nephew’s 
keen business acumen, but true to his principles, he 
added : “There does seem to be another side to the 
question — don’t you think so?” 

“Enjoyment and art, I suppose? Yes, I don’t 
deny that,” agreed Hoyt; “only I haven’t had time 
to think about any nonsense of that kind. Those 
things don’t pay!” 

“Perhaps not! But — that’s the very reason I 
chose you as my man of business; and, that reminds 
me — what were you able to do about those steel 
shares ?” 

“I was just going to tell you about th^m. Well, 
I got them all right, and I put them away in your 
box—” 

“Good enough!” exclaimed his uncle; “you’re a 
wonder !” 

“Am I? You’d have to say so, if you’d seen the 
stroke of business I pulled off about fifteen minutes 
later!” said Bradford, with a self-satisfied smile. 
“You see, I sold those shares to Billy Truesdale, 
who was buying for Bacon’s account. He tried 
to make out that I had withdrawn my offer, but I 
held him to the bargain, though he wriggled and 
squirmed a good deal. I was just in time, for the 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


4i 


next minute, one of the brokers for the Colgate 
group jumped into the game, and brought up the 
price to within one fifth of your price limit. The 
best of the joke was that I cleared five thousand 
dollars on the transaction !” 

Eliot Gordon looked up and laughed heartily. 

“And was it perfectly fair?” 

“Yes, but what do you mean to insinuate?” 

“Nothing — only I was admiring your matchless 
nerve !” 

Bradford, taking this as a compliment, laughed 
loudly, and Eliot Gordon, though he considered 
his nephew’s business methods rather questionable 
at times, after a short pause, laughed too. 

“I carry these things through,” continued the 
younger man smoothly; “because I flatter myself 
I know human nature pretty well, and — I know 
when — to bluff. I’m not saying that if he’d had the 
nerve to call me down I wouldn’t have ducked ; but 
I knew old Bill’s mind didn’t work quickly enough 
for that.” 

“One day, my boy,” remarked Gordon blandly; 
“you’ll bark up the wrong tree, and you’ll be sorry. 
It’s never a good thing to dally too near the danger 
mark!” 

“I’m not hunting any trouble — I don’t think — 
not!” 


42 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Gordon, having planted his row, looked up sharp- 
ly at his nephew who smiled back carelessly at him, 
so giving him up as a bad job, the old man got up 
and after fumbling for his matches, relit his pipe. 

“It must be almost tea-time,” he said, and glanced 
at his watch ; “your aunt will be on the look-out for 
us, and— I know she doesn’t like us to be late.” 

And both men laughed. 

“Well, shall we be moving on?” asked Gordon. 

“Yes, why not?” answered Hoyt, still laughing. 

On their arrival they found Mrs. Gordon placid- 
ly knitting beside the tea-table on the west ver- 
andah. 

“Here you are!” she called out, greeting them 
with a bright smile; “I was afraid the tea would 
get too strong — ” 

“Not for me, aunt Myra,” insisted Bradford; 
“it couldn’t be too strong for me — ” 

“No, my dear, I know that. I was thinking of 
your uncle — he is so very — particular!” 

Her husband opened his mouth to speak, but had 
no opportunity to defend himself at this moment, 
for just then the butler entered, and announced the 
names of two ladies : 

“Miss Malcolm and Miss Sherwood!” And he 
held the French window open for the two ladies to 
pass out. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


43 


Mr. Gordon rose, and coming forward, extended 
both hands to Edith. 

“My dear!” he began effusively; “I’m afraid I’m 
in trouble again. I must talk matters over with 
you, or else I shall never close my eyes to-night!” 

“I’m always ready!’' laughed Edith gayly, and 
the old man joined in her merriment, for Miss Mal- 
colm possessed the rare power of radiating happi- 
ness to such an extent that Gordon reflected that 
happiness in spite of himself. 

Then Edith brought Nora forward. 

“This is my friend, Nora Sherwood — I have been 
so anxious for her to know you !” 

Edith was unconsciously appealing to her friends 
to take the younger woman under their protection. 

She must have realized that by doing this, she 
was confessing doubt as to the course she had pur- 
sued in managing Nora’s case; and trying to re- 
assure herself that she had acted for the best. 

She presented the girl to Mrs. Gordon, but noticed 
with considerable dismay the repression with which 
Nora greeted her hostess. 

Mr. Gordon handed cups of tea to the two ladies, 
but Bradford Hoyt seemed absorbed, and uncon- 
scious that any especial duty was required of him, 
so it was Edith who helped Nora to bread and but- 
ter. 


44 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Mrs. Gordon looked across at Nora with consid- 
erable curiosity, but did not attempt to draw her 
into the conversation ; instead she preferred to 
study her at leisure. 

Edith and Mr. Gordon were talking apart, Nora 
was drinking her tea slowly, and looking over the 
rim of her cup as she did so; while Bradford, who 
had been conversing with his aunt, having finished 
his tea, lit a cigarette. 

Mrs. Gordon noticed from time to time that he 
was furtively watching Miss Sherwood, not how- 
ever as if she were a creature of flesh and blood, 
but from purely an impersonal standpoint. 

She felt as if a play was being enacted before her 
eyes, for Myra Gordon, with all her apparent sim- 
plicity, did not often miss a trick, though she kept 
the knowledge gained to herself. 

“How do you occupy your time, my dear?” she 
inquired, remembering her duty as hostess. 

“My days are very much alike,” answered the 
young girl demurely, as Mrs. Gordon thought; “I 
am trying to follow in Edith’s footsteps, you 
know!” 

“You are ambitious then to become a writer?” 

“To become a writer? Yes, I am — but, of course 
— any success one may have spurs one on to further 
efforts — but — you don’t understand — how could 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


45 


you? I forgot where I was for a moment — I beg 
your pardon!” 

“Not at all !” said Mrs. Gordon politely, and then 
added : “it must be interesting and absorbing — work 
of that kind.” 

“Oh, it is!” answered Nora. And turning her 
head slightly, she intercepted Bradford’s absorbed 
and earnest glance fixed upon her. 

She would find out what he was trying to do, 
but at this moment she was prevented from doing 
so by Mr. Gordon who rose to put down his cup on 
the table, and who then addressed her. 

Edith was relieved to catch a note of banter, as 
Nora responded to the lightness in Mr. Gordon’s 
tone ; for the time being it made the girl seem more 
human and natural. 

“Come on!” cried Gordon turning to Miss Mal- 
colm; “come into the garden — ” 

“ ‘For the bat-black night has flown’ ” — quoted 
Edith mischievously ; “but I’d have hated like poison 
to have been Maude !” 

“Stop that!” playfully admonished Gordon over 
his shoulder, for he had walked on ahead, and 
Edith, with a light laugh, followed. 

In the meantime Nora listened politely to Mrs. 
Gordon who was telling her about the early history 
of New York, appearing to give her undivided at- 


46 THE WIFE DECIDES 


tention to what the old lady was saying, but she 
managed at the same time to keep half an eye on 
Hoyt who still remained silent beside her. 

The old lady’s voice droned on, and as the sub- 
ject of her discourse needed little or no comment, 
Nora found her attention wavering more than once. 

Hoyt was beginning to interest her as a subject 
for “copy.” And she laughed inwardly as the word 
came to her mind. 

As for the man in question, his interest in the girl 
was absolutely incomprehensible, for he was not a 
lady’s man. He had been attracted when she entered 
by some indefinable something about her. 

Could it be in the graceful .undulation of her 
walk, or what was it? 

He could not find any answer to these questions, 
and for the first time in his life, he was confused. 


VI 


NORA THINKS IT OVER 

Hoyt was a shrewd, conservative business man. 
That he was confronted by something different 
from any business proposition made him realize that 
for once he felt uncertain of himself. He had no 
doubt as to his love being real, but he did not seem 
to realize its intensity. 

He intended to call on Miss Sherwood to ask her 
to become his wife, yet he felt himself a poor lover. 
Still his courage was high and his heart was beating 
strongly in anticipation of the great happiness he 
knew would be his if she accepted him. 

He had met a woman with whom he had fallen in 
love at first sight, but he had never paid serious 
attention to women, and so he felt awkward and ill 
at ease at a time when he should have been more 
confident of himself than ever before. 

He had known and admired many women, but 
never before had he experienced the stirring of that 
passion that is stronger than death, than life, or the 
mystery of both. 

As he made his way to “Gleneyrie,” he was posi- 


48 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


tively elated, but as he waited for the door to be 
opened, even then he had no idea of the reality and 
strength of his love for Nora. 

It was not until he had been admitted, shown into 
the drawing-room, and the portieres had been pushed 
aside by Nora herself that he knew beyond all possi- 
bility of doubt that he loved this woman, and this 
woman only, with his whole heart, mind and soul. 

He could not speak, and he stood there, awkward 
and silent, silent as he had been on the first day 
they had met. 

He only knew that he was in love, but for once 
in his life he was mortally afraid. He feared that 
he was not loved in return, and he was terrified 
to put the momentous question that should decide 
his fate. 

There was the joy; there was the pain. The 
wonder of it! 

Nora was looking at Bradford with amused eyes, 
for she being a woman had known the truth from 
the first. 

She asked him to sit down. 

“What have you been doing with yourself?” she 
asked finally; “since we met — ” 

“Since we first met!” breathed Bradford? But 
he spoke with the voice of his soul, for no sound 
passed his lips ; he could utter no word yet. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


49 


“It seems a long while ago!” she ended, as she 
continued to study him. “I have been so busy my- 
self since then.” 

“I suppose you are still writing!” he said, as if 
he could not understand why she loved such work; 
“now I am taking my holiday, if you choose to call 
it that.” 

“What do you do?” she asked curiously. 

“I am a broker,” he answered ; “but even when I 
am on my vacation, I am thinking out problems — ” 

“I suppose it must be very absorbing — very — in- 
teresting — ” she said, hardly aware that she was 
echoing Mrs. Gordon’s sentiments, even her very 
words, in regard to this man’s occupation, words 
that had previously been applied to her own profes- 
sion. 

“Very!” he replied, as he thought, dryly, but she 
easily read the deep enthusiasm in his tone, and 
smiled again. 

Could love be really as blind as people thought 
it was? Would this man’s love make her artistic 
life possible? She desired to be free to live that 
life, to work out her fate, to follow out her chosen 
career, with a sense of being untrammeled, in a more 
sympathetic center than at present. Would it be 
possible to do this to her complete satisfaction, if 
she became this man’s wife? 


50 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


She must wait and see, for it would never do to 
make a fatal mistake at the very start of her career. 
It would be unbearable — commonplace — stupid! 

His conversation fairly bristled with financial 
terms; but one thing stood out clear, and that was, 
this man had already made one fortune, and if she 
could believe him, stood in a fair way to make an- 
other and a larger one. 

She would not have been human, if this talk 
about money had not had its effect upon her, so she 
listened eagerly, greedily, drinking in with avidity 
all he said, for he had opened up a new world be- 
fore her eyes, and one that fascinated. 

After a time the subject began to pall; it lost its 
first charm of novelty, and to the woman the sting 
of her suffering returned with full force. Once 
more she felt the strength of her passion stemmed 
and halted, and she lived over again the terrible 
moment when Griswold had told her his story. 

Hoyt ceased speaking, and Nora waited for him 
to continue. As he did not do so at once, she had 
an opportunity of making up her mind what her 
reply should be. 

She carefully weighed the advantages and the 
disadvantages, contrasting one with the other, and 
estimating their value. She was doing with the 
possibilities of her life just what Bradford had done 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


5i 


with his, the point of view alone being shifted. 
That would make very little difference in this case, 
for the result would be as before, the making of a 
mutually profitable investment. 

The advantages would be a comfortable home, 
a man who could supply her with money, and a 
place where she could work undisturbed. The 
principal disadvantage was the giving of herself to 
a man she could not love. Would one balance the 
other? 

Bradford Hoyt looked up suddenly. 

“Dear Miss Sherwood — Nora!” he said, with 
that confident smile which was so characteristic of 
him ; “I love you !” 

“Yes!” she responded quickly. 

“But you’ve known about this — ” he insisted 
looking fixedly at her; “you must have known it!” 

“How should I?” 

“Because you are a woman, and a woman always 
knows ! Answer me now !” he pleaded breathlessly ; 
“you will marry me, won’t you?” 

For the fraction of a second the woman hesitated, 
and then she met his eyes, firmly and without flinch- 
ing. 

“I’ll think about it!” she replied, with her slow 
smile. 


VII 


A SECOND MEETING 

Edith was very much impressed by the determina- 
tion with which Nora applied herself to her work. 
It could mean either the enthusiasm of the novice, 
or a real and lasting interest. 

The girl was going the right way about it, and 
showed that she understood the value of method. 
All this tended to convince Edith that she was in 
earnest. 

She was giving Nora all the aid she could; the 
sort of help one bestows willingly on a fellow- 
worker who is in love with her art. 

She had noticed a reserve in the girl’s manner, 
which might be due to absorption and the effects of 
concentration, but there was a certain quality of 
cynicism in Nora that she did not like, for it seemed 
unnatural and out of place in a girl of Miss Sher- 
wood’s apparently healthy mental make-up. 

Her conclusion brought her to the question that 
she could not answer: was the girl working under 
a strain, or was she trying to get away from her- 
self? 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


53 


It would be much easier if she could only look 
into her mind, but that, of course, was impossible. 

The girl had become a woman, and had devel- 
oped in the last week, an extraordinary degree of 
composure. It was this that puzzled Edith, for it 
made her think that Nora was on the point of doing 
something she might regret later. Edith was al- 
ways suspicious of changes in manner. 

If Nora was deceiving herself, there was no dan- 
ger that she would make no progress, and then, she 
would be like a creature adrift. But Edith felt her- 
self powerless to interfere. It made her position 
so much more difficult, because there was nothing 
she could say or do. 

For many reasons, Miss Malcolm feared to speak 
out, but principally because she was unwilling to 
expose herself to the possibility of a rebuff. Nora 
had too much natural reserve to make an approach 
easy. 

Edith could only look on this trait as unfortun- 
ate, for she was herself more sympathetic and more 
accessible. 

Being a woman of the world, as well as a past 
master in the portrayal of character, she felt certain 
that she could deal successfully with the situation. 

At the same time, she was aware that the girl 
would have to work out her own salvation, what- 


54 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


ever she, Edith, might do to the contrary; but one 
thing she was firm about, and that was, she would 
not permit her own work to suffer because of the 
possible vagaries of another. 

The fear that this might happen had made the 
pleasure she had expected to derive from Miss 
Sherwood’s visit more problematic. For this 
reason she was quite decided that it was essential 
where they were similar. 

She did not deny that it would be much more 
satisfactory for them, if they could have it out, for 
it would end these futile mental skirmishes; it was 
not that Edith lacked the moral courage to bring 
matters to an issue, it was rather that she had the 
tact to refrain. To act hastily would clearly defeat 
her original object, and must be avoided, if she 
were to fulfill the promise made to her dead friend. 

At this moment Nora came in with an open letter 
in her hand. 

“This is from Cynthia Wayne!” she said, hold- 
ing it out toward Edith, though she smiled quizzi- 
cally; “what do you think I had better do about it?” 

Edith read the letter carefully and slowly; then 
she looked up inquiringly at Nora who had moved 
away to the window where she was standing aim- 
lessly drumming on the pane. 

Miss Malcolm tried to make out why the girl had 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


55 


asked her advice about the invitation, for it was 
from Mrs. Wayne asking Nora to spend a few days 
at her place near Philadelphia; but her expression 
gave no information, it was absolutely non-com- 
mittal. 

The girl was of age, and could do as she chose 
in regard to such a simple matter! It was not a 
situation that called for either advice or permission, 
while Nora, feeling that she was a guest of the 
house, was going through the rather elaborate form 
of asking permission from its mistress, or else, 
recognizing a certain amount of authority on Edith’s 
part, was asking for her opinion, as from an older 
woman. 

There was something about the girl’s manner 
and actions that seemed too subtle to be altogether 
natural, and Edith had a feeling that the whole 
thing was too well done to savor of absolute sin- 
cerity; so she contented herself by admitting that 
Alice gave the impression of being rather deceitful. 

“I think it’s lovely of Mrs. Wayne to ask you 
to make her a visit,” she said finally, looking down 
at her hands, and feeling somewhat hypocritical in 
voicing sentiments so much at variance with her 
actual thoughts. 

“You think I had better — I mean, that I — might 
go?” inquired Nora, as she turned and walked to- 


56 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


ward Edith, though she stopped to fasten her cuff 
on the way, thus avoiding a direct glance at her. 

“I should do as I wished,” remarked the older 
woman slowly; “for after all the invitation is to 
you — not to me. I have absolutely nothing to do 
with it.” She smiled and handed back the letter 
without further comment. 

“I shall go then!” And she folded the letter 
carefully, and with a certain amount of delibera- 
tion. “I had better go pack and send a telegram,” 
she added, and turning, left the room. 

Two hours later, Edith bade good-bye to her 
friend, who departed literally, “bag and baggage.” 
Before leaving she explained why she was doing 
this. 

“I feel that it is wiser to take all my ammunition — 
all my war-paint and feathers — ” she said, with her 
characteristic smile, “for Cynthia might ask me to 
stay over a few days longer — you wouldn’t mind 
much if I did, would you?” 

“Why of course not!” answered Edith in a dif- 
ferent tone, for she was anxious to make amends 
for her former coldness and suspicion. “I should 
stay as long as you are wanted — but don’t outstay 
your welcome though. That would be a mistake!” 

“Oh, no!” laughed Nora, as she embraced Edith 
with more warmth than usual. “You have been 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


5 7 


so good — so kind to me! Much more than I de- 
serve. I shall miss you — horribly !” 

She sprang into the waiting carriage, and closed 
the door quickly; the maid had gone ahead with 
the luggage, the coachman whipped up his horses, 
and moved briskly off. 

The railroad journey was tedious, but finally she 
arrived at the station where her new hostess lived. 

There she was met by Mr. Wayne in a smart 
motor, and before she knew it, she was whisked 
away along a country lane. 

When they had finished their tea, Cynthia showed 
her to her room, a charming apartment furnished 
in English chintz, and after telling Nora that some 
people were coming for dinner, left the rather be- 
wildered girl to rest. 

A few minutes before the hour, Nora entered the 
drawing-room. She hesitated for a moment, when 
she saw that some of the guests had already arrived. 
Her host came to her rescue and shook hands, 
which gave the girl an opportunity to recover her 
composure. 

“My dear!” called out Cynthia gayly, “don’t 
bother about Reynolds, but come over here to me! 
I want you to know Mrs. Kenneth Macaulay. 
Sheeda, you must be nice to my friend Nora Sher- 
wood — there! Now you know each other.” 


58 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Sheeda looked critically at Nora, before she ex- 
tended her hand in greeting, but as the eyes of the 
two women met, a sudden flash of understanding 
passed between them, and all at once, they mutually 
recognized the existence of some intangible bond; 
so they smiled, in mutual understanding. 

Mrs. Wayne who had turned aside to exchange a 
word with Druce McAllister, and had consequently 
missed this by-play between the two women, now 
presented him to Nora. Then she walked across 
the room and rang the bell for dinner. 

“I won’t wait any longer — it’s past eight now,” 
she said; “it makes young men think too much of 
themselves, if you pay too much attention to them; 
it’s a mistake!” 

She threw a mischievous glance at Druce, as the 
butler drew aside the dining-room curtains, and an- 
nounced dinner. 

At this moment a young man entered the room. 
He moved in a leisurely manner, and greeted his 
hostess with perfect composure, but made no excuse 
for his lateness. 

It was Bradford Hoyt. 


VIII 


AN INFORMAL LUNCHEON 

The reason of her visit to Villa Nova had been to 
renew her friendship with Mrs. Wayne, but, at 
the back of Nora’s mind was a half-formed idea 
that she would like to have an opportunity of meet- 
ing Bradford Hoyt again. Now that she had met 
him, she seemed as far as ever from the possibility 
of making up her mind. 

That the meeting had taken place without any 
chance for preparation on her part, had left her 
rather bewildered. This feeling had been augmented 
by some indefinite change in the man’s attitude to- 
ward her. 

When he had asked her to marry him, he had 
come in the character of a suppliant, but, when she 
had met him at Mrs. Wayne’s house, he seemed to 
carry the air of a conqueror. 

Had Nora actually been in love with the man, 
she would have accepted his devotion without ques- 
tion, but being uncertain of her own feelings, she 
was forced to think the matter over more carefully. 

She admitted finally that she was unable to cope 


6o 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


with such a momentous question unaided. The 
waters of doubt had, in the beginning, played about 
her feet, but she had laughed scornfully, for there 
was no danger in their shoals; but now she was 
sinking slowly into the deeper waters of uncertainty, 
and, sooner or later, would be engulfed by them. 
She must call for aid before it was too late! She 
must ask advice from some other woman. No 
sooner thought of than she dismissed the probabil- 
ity of finding such a person. No, she must discover 
some other solution of the problem! 

But, what of Bradford? What did his changed 
attitude mean? 

Nora sat up in bed and clasped her hands about 
her knees ; she must thresh out this matter, for this 
phase of the question had opened up a new set of 
emotions. She began to realize that she would not 
be able to rest, until her mind was swept clear of 
these everlasting cobwebs. But how was she to set 
about such an impossible task alone — and, all at 
once, she realized that she had returned to her 
original starting-point. 

She yearned and prayed to be shown the loop- 
hole which would shed light on her darkness. 

A knock at the door interrupted her meditation; 
it was her maid, bringing a telephone message from 
Mrs. Macaulay, asking if she would lunch with her 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


61 


to-day, quite informally — there was really no one 
else coming. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, she told Anna to 
accept, and to let Mrs. Wayne know that she would 
not ride with her after all, but would be lunching out. 

Some two or three hours later; Nora, refreshed 
in mind and body, rang Mrs. Macaulay’s door-bell, 
and was surprised to be admitted by the hostess her- 
self. 

“This is to show you,” she laughingly explained, 
“how really informal it is!” 

“I am glad of that.” 

“Yes!” agreed Sheeda, with a charming assump- 
tion of innocent levity, “so am I. Do you know,” 
she continued, “I get awfully tired of servants some- 
times, so I’ve sent most of them into town to-day; 
as a matter of fact, I am going to cook the lunch 
myself on a chafing-dish!” 

“That will be lots of fun!” exclaimed Nora, 
laughing, for she was much of a child at heart, “but 
you must let me help — ” 

“You’ll have to, that is, if you expect anything to 
eat, for — I’m the cook — you must not forget that !” 

“If I were the butler — ” began Nora, infected by 
her hostess’ mood. 

“Which you are not,” laughed Mrs. Macaulay; 
“I know what you are going to say — but, we needn’t 


62 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


go into that — ” she remonstrated feebly; “remem- 
ber, my dear, that you are only the kitchen-maid, 
and that you don't speak or understand any known 
language ! If you are to be in character, you should 
be Swedish or German — ” 

“But how — ” ventured Nora in pretended con- 
fusion. 

“Oh, the real cook will put the food in the pantry, 
and you will fetch it in to me. If you have any 
complaint to make, you had best give warning now 
— it will make it seem so much more natural, if 
you only would — like the real thing, you know!” 

Under the influence of Sheeda’s lightness of 
spirits, Nora forgot, for the moment, the disturb- 
ing effects of the past week, and was able to play 
up easily to her hostess' fine spirits. 

After luncheon, after coffee had been served, she 
turned to Miss Sherwood, with a touch of impul- 
siveness. 

“And now,” she said, “we won’t be disturbed, 
so don't you feel like having a good, old-fashioned 
talk?” 

“Yes,” agreed Nora hesitatingly, as she looked up 
at Sheeda with a wistful smile. 

“I knew that you had something on your mind 
when I first met you — I felt it instinctively — ” 

“Do you mean that I appeared unhappy? Is that 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


63 


what you mean?” asked Nora, opening her eyes a 
trifle wider than usual. 

Sheeda studied the girl curiously, then glanced 
away at her own reflection in the mirror of the 
mantelpiece by which she was standing, and patted 
into place a refractory curl, before she answered. 
She was trying to gain time, for she was uncer- 
tain whether the girl’s question amounted to an ad- 
mission or not, that she, herself, had guessed cor- 
rectly. 

Intuitively, she felt that no lax methods could 
succeed with her. 

“It’s a good deal like having a tooth that ought 
to be pulled — the longer one delays, the worse it is 
in the end,” she suggested insinuatingly. 

“But — I know you so slightly — what could I 
say?” began Nora in a low tone, which Sheeda 
noticed vibrated slightly. 

“You must try to feel that you may talk to me as 
if you were talking to yourself — I’m as safe as the 
tomb.” 

Nora looked earnestly at her new friend, and 
after letting her eyes fall for an instant, glanced 
again timidly at Sheeda. 

Presently the girl began to speak slowly, as if 
she were feeling her way. 

“I thought it would be so easy, and it would 


6 4 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


be such a relief — ah! If I only dared!” she mur- 
mured, and then, “but, I can’t, indeed I can’t!” 

Nora gripped the arm of her chair, and looked 
into the heart of the fire, as if seeking there the con- 
solation her soul craved. 

Sheeda, who saw that the decisive moment had 
arrived, knew that there was but one way of reach- 
ing Nora. .She knew, moreover, that such moments 
come but seldom, and die almost at once, so she 
must act quickly. Let her once put her fingers on 
the hidden chord in the girl’s nature and force it 
to respond; then, and then only, would she know 
she had succeeded. 

“Miss Sherwood — Nora!” she added softly, but 
with an undertone of quiet strength: “you are in 
trouble — you have admitted it. Don’t be afraid, 
but trust me! I know that I can help you! Won’t 
you let me?” 

“Yes!” she said, yielding to the impulse of the 
moment, as Sheeda felt that she would. “I will.” 
And she looked up at her friend with confidence 
and trust. 

“Before I begin, I want to ask you if you knew 
my mother?” 

“Yes, but — merely as an older woman whose 
name I was — familiar with, though — I never knew 
her personally.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


65 


“I hoped you had — ” said Nora regretfully. 

“You forget that she left Baltimore before I 
came out — you were only a school-girl, then!” 

“I see,” answered Nora, “and I continued my 
education in a convent. I was taught repression 
there, among other things, and that is why I hesi- 
tated to speak out. After my mother died, I was 
happier than I had ever been in my life, for I fell 
in love and was loved in return. His name was 
Leslie Griswold!” 

Mrs. Macaulay repressed a start, but offered no 
comment; she knew that story and its sequel too 
well for that, but she had been ignorant like the 
rest of the world of Nora’s connection with it. 

“You were engaged to Leslie Griswold?” she 
asked at last. 

“Yes, but it was broken off.” 

“Forgive me for asking, but — do you love him 
still?” 

“Don’t ask me that ! It is a closed chapter. Lis- 
ten to me! I must tell you the rest of my story. 
I turned to literature, and Edith helped me with 
advice. She was more than kind; she was both 
tactful and sympathetic, but somehow, I don’t un- 
derstand why, there seemed to be a barrier between 
us, and — I felt as if I were an alien. I don’t wish 
to appear ungrateful, for Edith was my mother’s 


66 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


friend, but — perhaps you see what I mean — what 
I am trying to say. Yes, you do — I thought you 
would. If I could call you Sheeda, I — think it 
would make it easier for me to go on — you will, 
won’t you?” 

“Of course — my dear Nora — you may call me 
Sheeda. It’s a pretty name, isn’t it?” 

“Yes. I soon found out that my writing was not 
a mere fad, and I see no reason — to change my 
mind now. You did not know Bradford Hoyt and 
I had met before that night at Mrs. Wayne’s?” 

“No, where did you meet him?” 

“He was staying with the Gordons. They live 
near Edith, and are great friends of hers. He is 
their nephew.” 

“I see, well — go on!” 

“Several days after our first meeting, he came to 
call, and — asked me to marry him. I told him I 
would think of it; but I was too much absorbed 
by my work, and my trouble with Leslie was too 
recent for me to give a definite answer; besides, I 
did not know my own mind. You see, it was all 
so confusing. I could not help thinking that I had 
been badly treated, but not by Leslie, and I raged 
at the cruelty that had been meted out to me. What' 
I wish to know is, if I do decide to marry Bradford 
Hoyt, can I do so without love, and, could I carry 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


67 


on my work freely — if I were his wife? Would he 
demand more of my attention than I could afford to 
give — and, what do you think I had better do? I 
have promised him an answer to-morrow, and — I 
am at my wits’ ends — I haven’t the remotest idea 
what I’m going to say!” 

“My dear Nora! You have got yourself into a 
mess, but — cheer up, it’s only a mental one, so I’ll 
show you the way out. Here’s the proposition I 
had to face when I was just beginning to under- 
stand what the limitations and possibilities of life 
were — we might call that chapter ‘on the brink.’ 
Instead of literature, I yearned for worldly posi- 
tion and success. From the first, I made my own 
conditions with my husband, and those conditions 
have become part and parcel of the contract — so 
to speak — I’ll tell you about them, directly. Like 
you, I did not love my husband, but I knew it was 
my only chance to get what I wanted — I believed 
that love would follow — it’s usually supposed to in 
marriages of convenience — so I accepted him, for 
he was rich and studious, and I knew I could turn 
those very elements to account, if I only played my 
cards properly. Now, as to the conditions ! I asked 
him if he would agree not to interfere with my 
worldly ambitions, and I further made it clear to 
him, that he must trust me unreservedly. I have 


68 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


amused him in his leisure hours, and he has never 
had cause to complain.” 

A merry shout of young voices made Sheeda 
pause and run to the window ; then she called out to 
Nora. 

“Look!” she said, with a new light in her eyes, 
when the girl stood by her side ; “those are my twin 
girls, and they are the reasons — the principal ones, 
that have kept me straight — and, I have resisted 
temptation more than once.” 

Nora, with no more than a casual glance at the 
pretty sight, turned away and resumed her seat. 
Surely, there must be more to follow. Why did not 
Sheeda go on? 

Mrs. Macaulay, after kissing her hand and nod- 
ding to the children, turned away and resumed her 
former position by the fire, but remained silent so 
long that Nora looked up impatiently. 

“What do you advise me to do — you haven’t told 
me yet?” 

“Not in so many words — I admit,” agreed 
Sheeda, as if amused; “it seems so obvious, that I 
didn’t think it necessary.” 

“What shall I do then?” asked Nora, rising. 

“I think that you might safely marry him,” an- 
swered Mrs. Macaulay, feeling very much as if she 
were being placed on the witness stand. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


69 


As she paused, she met the girl’s eyes looking 
fixedly at her, so she smiled encouragingly. 

For a brief space, Nora’s expression did not 
change; then like the sun peeping out from behind 
a cloud, she smiled. 


IX 


EDITH PONDERS 

The following Monday Edith was looking over 
her correspondence, which was unusually large 
that morning. In glancing hastily at the many 
superscriptions, one of them particularly arrested 
her attention, and she opened it at once. 

It was, as she had guessed, from Nora, and, 
as she read it, she sighed. 

Here is what Nora wrote her friend : 

‘Dear Edith, 

I am sure you will be somewhat surprised to 
hear that I was married to Bradford Hoyt 
yesterday in Wilmington. There was nobody 
present but Sheeda Macaulay and Druce Mc- 
Allister. I should like to have had you there 
too, but the fact is, I made up my mind to be 
married only at the last moment, so we were 
too much hurried to think of anything except 
the immediate ceremony. I hope you will not 
feel offended, as I should hate to lose the 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


7i 


friendship of one who had been my mother's 
friend, and to whose care she entrusted me. I 
know that I have laid myself open to criticism, 
but I feel strong enough to defy it, and besides, 
I am old enough to know my own mind, so 
what does it matter? 

Do write me soon to Devon, where we have 
taken a house, and where we expect to be the 
latter part of next week. I have only been 
married a short time, but so far, I do not re- 
gret the step I have taken. My husband, rough 
diamond though he is, has been most consid- 
erate. I must confess that I am pining to get 
back to work, and strange as it may seem, I 
feel that Bradford misses his office also, though 
on the whole, he seems fairly contented. I 
think honeymoons are perfectly barbarous, as 
well as being decidedly boring, and I do miss 
my maid more than I can tell you; however, 
we shall be at home soon, and things will be 
different. To-morrow, we are going to Gettys- 
burg, that is, if a slight repair to the motor is 
finished by that time, and I hope to get some 
good ‘copy’ there. 

Bradford surprised me by his enthusiastic 
admiration of the beautiful country through 
which we are motoring, and I think seriously 


72 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


of putting this unexpected phase of his char- 
acter into one of my novels — my next one per- 
haps. 

I have been out in the open air all day, and 
I am so sleepy that I can scarcely keep my eyes 
open, so I really must close. 

Yours affectionately, 

Nora Hoyt/ * 

Edith’s first feeling as she finished the letter was 
one of consternation, and she asked herself why 
Nora had found it necessary to take such a step, 
evidently without considering the seriousness of it ! 
She must have acted quickly at the end, as, in fact, 
she had admitted, but there were other considera- 
tions which made her think that she might have 
been meditating this very step, even before she had 
left “Gleneyrie.” There were incidents, too, which 
strengthened this thought, and made her wonder 
what was on the girl’s mind when she left to go 
to Villa Nova. Somehow, the whole thing seemed 
rather sly, or, if not actually that, it, at least, de- 
noted a lack of confidence, and Edith felt somewhat 
irritated that she should have been the victim. 

It would have been so much better if Nora had 
consulted her first, instead of taking the initiative 
in such a secret way, but it was too late now to 
make objections. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


73 


Suddenly Edith felt very much alone, and 
yearned to discuss the affair with some one who 
could comfort her. 

She confessed too, that Nora, during the short 
time she was a guest of her house, had identified 
herself to a certain extent with her own life, and 
this caused Edith to realize that she missed the girl. 

She had been prevented from showing the affec- 
tion which she had looked forward to bestowing 
on her whose confidence she hoped to win in the 
end, and this, doubtless, was what hurt her most. 

Before Nora arrived, she had in imagination, 
clasped the girl to her heart, and though the reality 
had been quite different, she had never given up 
the idea of one day bringing her hope to fruition. 

Miss Malcolm was making an effort to accept the 
situation with equanimity, though she found it no 
easy matter to sit down and reason with herself as 
if it were an occurrence of ordinary, everyday in- 
terest. She felt stifled, and pushing aside the other 
papers, rose to her feet, pacing the room with 
Nora’s letter in her hand. Sometimes she paused 
to read over portions of it, and then resumed her 
walk, just as if she were engaged in her usual oc- 
cupation of unravelling the threads of an abstruse 
situation. 

She had read over the letter so hastily at first, 


74 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


that she hardly had been able to grasp more than 
the bare fact, that Nora was a married woman. 
This had naturally started in her mind a doubt as 
to her own unworthiness, followed by the desire 
for comfort. She re-read the letter now more with 
a view of discovering if there were not some grains 
of comfort to be found in it. 

She could not help smiling at the rather con- 
ventional expression of regret at her absence; that 
was so characteristic of Nora! What was meant 
to be in the nature of a dramatic climax was the 
reference to the possible loss of friendship, because 
she had been her mother’s friend. This was un- 
necessary, for the simple reason that Nora herself 
had said that she had scarcely known her, and had 
not felt her death, except as that of a stranger. 
The allusion to criticism, and her ability to defy it, 
was but the bravado of a very young woman. How 
little Nora knew her that she should have thought 
it necessary to question her loyalty! She smiled 
more comprehendingly as the woman wrote of her 
husband — that he had been considerate! Perhaps, 
it might turn out well in the end; such marriages 
often did. 

One note of sincerity rang out clear and true, 
however, that Nora was surely in earnest about her 
work; she did not intend to have that interfered 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


75 


with, and this was the first scrap of comfort Edith 
could gather from the letter. 

The closing thought as to ‘copy’ and the lit- 
erary habit she had formed strengthened the girl’s 
former words, adding materially to their honesty — 
but, there was not one word of love in the whole 
letter, not one single word! Why should she have 
married, if she only wished for a chance to con- 
tinue her literary work? It seemed unnecessary 
and incongruous. 

Nora had accepted a home without love, and had 
demanded that it should be a comfortable one, 
where she must be allowed to work undisturbed. 
Edith could now read easily between the lines. 

Miss Malcolm stopped before the mantelpiece, 
and, tearing the letter across twice, threw the pieces 
into the fire. She tossed it aside like a cup that had 
been drained to the dregs. The bitter taste was still 
in her mouth, for the unsatisfied doubt as to her 
trusteeship persisted in remaining. 

After all, had she not done everything possible to 
further the girl’s interests? Should she not rather 
be thankful that she was safely married? This 
should be a relief to her whenever she thought of 
the history of Nora’s mother. Would love ever be 
born of this union, or would the woman drift on in 
search of pleasure and excitement? 


76 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


One thing that struck Edith very forcibly was 
the fact that Nora had never again referred to Les- 
lie Griswold after that one evening, when she had 
apparently laid her heart bare. Had the girl been 
in love with him or not, and was this marriage 
merely a desire for a home, or was it accepted as 
a balm for wounded feelings? 

Once more, the girl’s love for the literary life 
cropped up, and, somehow Edith Malcolm felt eas- 
ier in her mind. 


X 


AN AMAZING MARRIAGE 

Late in the autumn the Hoyts moved into Phila- 
delphia, where they had rented a house for the 
season. Nora had an opportunity of being seen in 
the world, where she was admired, both on account 
of her good looks, as well as for her artistic gowns. 
She was rather proud of her taste in dress, and 
could not understand why most women of position 
wore a gown simply because it was “fashionable” 
never taking into consideration the individuality of 
the wearer. She was always stylish, but not always 
“fashionable.” 

Besides, Mrs. Hoyt had considerable charm, both 
in voice and manner, so that these, in addition to 
her wit, and the enigmatical expression of her eyes, 
drew men to her, like moths to a flame. 

After a year of this fashionable life, in which 
Bradford did not participate to any extent, Nora 
confessed that she was tired. She had, to be sure, 
been burning the candle at both ends, as far as 
society and literary work went, and this she ex- 


78 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


plained to herself, was the sole reason of her list- 
lessness and lassitude. 

The change from country to town, and back tem- 
porarily to the country in the spring, was welcome, 
while the summer at Narragansett had been amus- 
ing, but now, she longed to return to the country 
for an indefinite period, though not to the life of 
feverish activity, which she and her friends had 
previously led. Indeed, she yearned for peace and 
quiet, that she might dream away the present, and 
strive to shut out all thoughts of the future. 

Up to the present time, Nora had continued her 
literary labors with considerable zest. She had 
had, too, a marked measure of success, and this so 
elated her, that she had planned to write her first 
novel. 

Her previous work had been in the line of short 
stories and essays, while a clever translation of one 
of the latest Parisian successes had brought her 
name favorably to the notice of some of the best 
known managers in New York. 

Nora’s ambition instead of being sated by this 
recognition of her merits, spurred her on to further 
efforts, as was evidenced by the extraordinary out- 
put of the past year. But now, as the first days of 
autumn grew apace, she found it more and more 
impossible to concentrate her thoughts on her work. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


79 


For the first time, her mind seemed clogged by 
leaden weights. 

Bradford thought she did not seem well, but as 
Nora volunteered no information as to the change 
in her life and habits, he did not seek to discover it, 
merely accepting her moods and vagaries as a 
matter of course. 

He did strive in his selfish way to distract her, 
and with this end in view, suggested asking some 
people to dine. Nora, realizing the necessity of 
playing up to him, in order that he should not 
worry too much about her, finally consented, but 
with a feigned appearance of eagerness. At first, 
she had avoided the fixing of any definite date, and 
this fact had somewhat puzzled Bradford. 

It was only after numerous secret consultations 
with Sheeda, that Nora decided it would be wiser 
to assume a more cheerful and willing attitude; 
though, she could not disguise from herself that 
this was becoming a more and more difficult task 
as the weeks dragged wearily on. 

Time passed, however, and the evening of the 
dinner party arrived. 

As Nora was being dressed, her maid remarked 
upon the unusually brilliant appearance of her mis- 
tress; and this had given her courage. Her cheeks 
were flushed, her eyes afire — her whole being alert. 


8o 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Bradford, when they sat in the drawing-room be- 
fore the arrival of the guests, saw that he had not 
made a mistake in proposing the dinner, for already 
the good effects of his suggestion were apparent. 
He inwardly congratulated himself that he had the 
handsomest wife in his set. He looked at Nora 
for a moment in proud admiration, then seating 
himself, continued the working out of a financial 
problem which his wife’s entrance had interrupted. 

Nora looked wonderingly at Bradford, and it 
annoyed her to think he could not leave his business 
behind him, at the office, as other men did. Still, 
his worldly success had brought her all she had 
yearned for, and more. 

How different the present was from the past! 
How changed the conditions! 

He had provided her with a beautiful home, 
where she might work as she pleased, and he had 
given her a most generous personal allowance. She 
had written in this strain to Edith, but now, she 
yearned for more than that — she longed for love! 

She felt it was impossible for her husband to give 
her what her heart craved, clever man that he was 
in so many ways. Oh, why had she not thought of 
this before? And for the first time since her con- 
vent days, she offered up a fervent prayer for guid- 
ance and help. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


81 


Later on, she felt Sheeda’s eyes fastened on her, 
and thinking that she read a warning of her own 
failure to play the part she had agreed to enact, 
she turned impulsively to Druce McAllister. In- 
tuitively, she fancied he was in sympathy with her. 
Had her prayer been answered? 

If it were true, then now was the moment to put 
him to the test. 

“Do you know that I consider Mrs. Macaulay 
the cleverest woman I ever met?” began Nora, in a 
low tone which was intended for Druce’s ears alone . 

“Yes, — but why do you think of that now?” 

“Well — ” hesitated Mrs. Hoyt, as if she felt that 
an explanation were necessary, “a few minutes ago, 
I looked up from a day-dream, because I fancied 
Sheeda’s glance was fixed on mine. Somehow or 
other, I thought she had been able to read my 
thought. It was almost uncanny! Perhaps it was 
a reflex of the flash of understanding which passed 
between us when we first met that impelled me. 
You see, I have realized how well she had solved the 
problem of ordering her life along sympathetic 
lines, and it made me think that she, being the ob- 
ject of my thoughts, had — I wonder if you under- 
stand me — ” 

“Yes,” he answered quietly, “I do.” 

“I am so glad!” she said, and then, catching her 


82 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


breath, continued: “I have taken her as a model, 
though of course there is a difference between suc- 
cess in worldly affairs and literature.” 

“The only difference is in the starting-point,” 
ventured Druce with a smile. 

“Exactly!” exclaimed Nora, the color mounting 
suddenly to her cheeks, for she was relieved that 
he had made it easier for her to go on; “and after 
all, what is the real mission of the present-day 
woman ?” 

“Happiness seems to me the logical aim of every 
endeavor — or should be!” said McAllister, as if he 
wished to avoid a direct answer. 

“But — what is woman’s mission?” re-iterated 
Nora, with a touch of impatience. 

She was unconscious that she had spoken louder 
than usual, until her husband’s voice was heard 
from the other end of the table, answering her 
question. 

“A woman’s place is in her home — and nowhere 
else!” 

“I don’t know — ” began a man’s voice, “why a 
woman should be relegated entirely to the home. 
It seems to me a good deal like a fallacy at the 
present time. Of course” he added, “an English- 
man’s home is his castle, but — what about women 
— we can’t get away from them, you know.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


83 


“Do you think we shall have to end by recogniz- 
ing them, after all inquired Druce, as if interested ; 
“what do you think about the suffrage question, 
Mrs. Hoyt?” 

“I have never thought much about it, but I be- 
lieve every woman should do what she thinks best. 
After all, each woman has to work out the problem 
of her own life, unaided and alone.” 

“If only the men would let us!” 

After the laugh which these words occasioned 
had subsided, Bradford continued: 

“A woman’s mission is primarily to make a 
man’s home attractive — a place where he will look 
forward to returning after the day’s work is 
done—” 

“That’s all very well — but — where does the man 
come in?” asked Sheeda, mock-seriously. 

“As the bread-winner!” And Bradford looked 
about him, as if challenging a reply; “and, the wo- 
man must be the help-meet.” 

“Which makes her merely man’s slave!” in- 
terrupted Sheeda, scornfully: “why, my dear man! 
you are making her the instrument, while, in real- 
ity, she is the vehicle — ” 

“I don’t agree with you!” exclaimed Bradford, 
excitedly; “why, take for example — a woman who 
brings children into the world ! Isn’t she fulfilling 


8 4 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


the greatest mission God ever gave anyone to ful- 
fill? Answer me that!” 

“Yes, I quite vagree with you,” answered Sheeda, 
“but — you are just about three hundred years be- 
hind the times — ” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“Because you do not take into consideration the 
still greater destiny of rearing children. I suppose 
you are trying to tell me that she is strengthening 
her mission by the birth of every additional child — 
is that what you mean?” 

“Yes, but I never thought of it in that way be- 
fore,” grumbled Bradford, not realizing that she 
was making fun of him. 

“I don’t care what you think — why! you seem 
to forget the devotion a woman gives her children ! 
I have no patience with men — they are so selfish! 
You go to town and bring back a lot of money, and 
think you have done it all!” Mrs. Macaulay said, 
with a half glance at Nora, who, however, refused 
to meet her eye; “but,” she added, with an under- 
tone of real seriousness, “it is the happiest thing 
for a woman to bear a child — and I agree with you 
that it is the fulfillment of her destiny — still — it is 
not all !” 

This time she looked at Nora questioningly, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


85 


though Sheeda fancied she detected just a shade of 
defiance in the glance which met hers. 

“Then — you limit women to one sphere?” asked 
Mrs. Hoyt, quietly, turning to her husband. 

“Yes — why not, when the man makes the home 
possible?” 

Before Nora had a chance to reply, Sheeda broke 
in quickly: 

“What about the women who are bread- 
winners ?” 

“Most of them are not married — that’s no argu- 
ment!” 

“Yes, but married or single, if she be a bread- 
winner, why should she not count? I personally 
know several single women, who are earning a 
good wage. Each one takes care of two, in some 
instances, three people, a widowed mother, and a 
younger sister, for instance — but there is no fuss 
made about it. It is never mentioned. Not even 
her employer knows it, and even if he did, it would 
not impress him. But take a man who is married, 
who draws an indifferent salary for a while, when 
there is a chance for promotion, he gets it, because, 
forsooth ‘the poor man has a wife !’ But the woman 
who takes care of herself, her mother and her sister! 
How about her? She is not promoted. Can you 
tell me why?” 


86 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Well, no, Mrs. Macaulay,” said Bradford com- 
pletely flabbergasted, “I don’t know that I can.” 

“Perhaps it might be a debatable point — ” mur- 
mured Alice diplomatically. 

“I tell you,” said Sheeda emphatically to Brad- 
ford, “that if — the artistic career amounts to a rul- 
ing passion — nothing, not even children, will prevent 
its fulfillment. Surely, I could not give you a more 
splendid example of this, than that of the great 
Madame Schumann-Heinck.” 

“I’m out of my depth!” cried Bradford, in de- 
spair; “I can’t follow you!” 

Nora, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, and a 
light laugh, nodded to Sheeda, and rose from the 
table. 


XI 


A DEBATABLE POINT 

It was not until several months after the baby was 
born, that Nora, with a feeling of compunction, 
realized that she had never invited Edith to visit 
her since her marriage. She determined to des- 
patch the long-delayed note. 

Edith, whose temperament was too serene to feel 
any actual grudge, accepted, and soon afterward, 
arrived at Devon. 

She and Nora, of course, corresponded, and with 
her keen insight, Miss Malcolm had succeeded in 
reading betwen the lines, but now, she hoped to be 
able to verify her conclusions by actual proof. 

Throughout her brief acquaintance with the girl, 
despite many adverse elements to the contrary, she 
had seen much to admire, and had often wondered 
whether Nora would ever meet the one man who 
would satisfy her in every way. 

The two women were returning, one morning 
from hunting, and had both enjoyed the brisk run 


88 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


in the keen country air ; now, in the added warmth 
of the pale sunlight, they were walking their horses 
homeward-bound. 

“I have never told you how wonderfully sweet 
I think your little son is!” said Edith. 

“Yes!” said Nora briefly. 

“You must love him very dearly, don't you, 
dear?” 

“I’m afraid I hardly know!” laughed Nora, and 
then, checking herself, added apologetically: “I 
was ill after he was borif>-then I was busy with my 
novel — and — I believe the nurse is quite satisfac- 
tory. Come, Edith ! do let’s have another gallop — 
I’m getting cold.” 

“I’m sorry to hear you speak like that — ” 

“I think I can explain. I couldn’t nurse him, 
you see, — and he was taken away from me before 
I really had a chance to know him — I believe it’s not 
unusual. But — don’t let’s talk any more about the 
baby — I must get home before I freeze!” And 
laughingly, she touched her horse, dashing off 
while Edith, somewhat stunned, followed as best 
she might. 

It was not until after luncheon that Edith found 
another opportunity of seeing Nora again, and, this 
time, she determined to speak out her mind more 
freely, more brutally, if necessary. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


89 


“Your husband goes to town every day, I sup- 
pose ?” 

“Yes,” she answered with a laugh, which Edith 
fancied was a trifle bitter; “he goes to town at 
dawn, and comes out in time to dress for dinner. 
It leaves me ample time for work, which I love, 
but — I might as well be married to a creature of 
wood, for all the companionship I get out of him.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Edith sternly, for 
she had detected a touch of seriousness in her 
friend’s tone. 

“Merely that we have very little in common. 
His life and interests are entirely in his business. 
He has only one other interest — ” 

“And what is that?” asked Edith quickly. 

“His child!” 

“But — it is yours, too — surely, you must see that 
that is a bond between you — one that will grow 
stronger as the years pass. Ah! Nora, you are 
making a terrible mistake. You should make the 
child a factor — ” 

“I cannot!” 

“Why not, dear?” inquired Edith more gently; 
“won’t you tell me — honestly — why not?” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” broke in Nora tensely; 
“though I don’t suppose you intend to make this a 
matter of common gossip — ” 


90 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Oh, Nora dear! You shouldn’t have said that — 
I thought you knew me better — but go on!” 

“I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt your feel- 
ings.” There was every appearance of contrition, 
though she spoke coldly. 

Edith leaned forward, as if about to speak. 

“Don’t say anything yet!” anticipated Nora, and 
Edith saw clearly that this time the girl was hold- 
ing herself well in check; “if I am to tell you what 
you wish to know, I must do so at once — in my 
own way. It is a matter — I must speak about — 
now — on the impulse of the moment. Listen, and 
don’t interrupt!” 

Edith obeyed implicitly, for as Nora paused, she 
saw how completely absorbed the younger woman 
was. Unable to endure the sight of that tense 
face, she looked away, and waited, until she was 
ready to speak. Roused at last by a feverish note 
in the other’s voice, she glanced up, faced Nora as 
if fascinated, and listened intently. 

“I did not love my husband when I married him 
— I wanted a home — I wanted to work, and that 
was the way it happened! He never makes mis- 
takes. My work means nothing to him — he cannot 
understand it — the child — everything. Having 
brought a son into the world — he might have re- 
warded me by paying some — the slightest attention 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


9i 


to me, but — he did not — he could not! I had ful- 
filled my part, and he had no further use for me — 
for the time being. 

“It was one of those chances that come but once 
— and he missed it. He could have turned to me 
— one glance — one word — it would have been 
enough — but he had eyes only for the child — not 
one word to say to me — I, who had endured all 
for his sake. I might have cared for the child — all 
might have been well between my husband and my- 
self — but, now it is too late!” 

“It was a mistake for you to have married him 
without love,” said Edith as calmly as she could; 
“still, I don’t see what you have to complain 
of—” 

“You mean that I got the home, the place where 
I could work? Yes, you are right, and he — the 
child — the son that he wished. What I wanted, and 
did not get was — recognition — sympathy — ” 

“Poor child!” 

“And any one who is artistic knows how much 
one needs that,” said Nora with a sigh. 

“I never had any one to advise me — I was forced 
to fight out my battle alone!” 

“You did not expect help from any one. You 
were alone — but — I am not!” 

“To all intents and purposes you are! My poor 


92 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Nora, how can you look for sympathy— from a 
man like Bradford? He has none to give!” 

“But — I must have sympathy. My nature craves 
it, and I should be literally starved without it.” 

“My dear girl, if you could only love your child, 
you could look on that love as a sheet anchor — ” 

“In theory — yes — but in practice — no!” 

“Could you not try?” 

“No.” 

“Won’t you be more explicit?” begged Edith. 

“If you insist, yes! If, when the child was born 
— the child he wished for more than anything else 
in the world, he had turned to me for an instant 
— I believe I could have forgiven him, even for his 
lack of sympathy in my literary work! If he had 
only smiled at me, as a small proof of his love for 
me — it was a psychological moment — all would 
have been well. But he showed clearly that he 
cared only for the child I had given him — that was 
all!” 

“I don’t see why that should prevent you from 
loving your child — it would only be human — ” 

“Because I did not want the child; I wanted to 
be able to pursue my work.” 

“But you must have realized that the birth of a 
child was a possibility — ” 

“I did not think about it.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


93 


Edith preferred to leave the situation as it was, 
so she said nothing further. 

To be sure, Bradford was immersed in business, 
and it was equally certain that selfishness formed 
a predominant part of his nature; but the wife’s 
attitude seemed to Edith one of false pride. What 
a pity! 

A bell sounded, and Nora rose to her feet. 

Edith looked up as Druce McAllister entered the 
room. 

“I hope I am not late!” he said. 


XII 


nora's friends are worried 

Edith had been lunching with Mrs. Wayne, and 
they had discussed a number of congenial topics. 

Cynthia had found Miss Malcolm singularly sym- 
pathetic, and Edith, for her part, had made up her 
mind that Mrs. Wayne was a woman after her own 
heart. 

One subject, however, Edith had been chary of ap- 
proaching, and that was Nora Hoyt. She knew 
that Cynthia was a good friend of Nora’s, but it is 
one thing to consider discussing a mutual friend, 
and quite another actually to do it. The conse- 
quences were that she flirted with the subject with- 
out really entering upon it. 

This feinting continued for some time, until Edith 
realized that the clock was. striking four. 

“I had no idea it was so late!” she exclaimed 
apologetically, and rose to go. “I hope I have not 
overstaid my welcome!” 

“Not at all !” answered Cynthia, laying a detain- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


95 


ing hand on her guest’s arm ; “I wish you wouldn’t 
go yet — I have something I wish to talk to you 
about — that is — if you have time ” 

“What is it?” 

“It’s about Nora Hoyt. I believe we are equally 
interested in her.” 

“Nora Hoyt!” exclaimed Edith, her face lighting 
up; “why didn’t you let me know before that you 
wanted to do so!” 

“I did not know how to begin; you see, it’s such 
a difficult thing — it’s almost like taking an unfair 
advantage ” 

“Not if we are both in earnest, and if we are 
really interested in Nora.” 

“That is true, and if we can help her in any way. 
It makes the end justify the means, I suppose.” 

“You speak, dear Mrs. Wayne, as if we were a 
couple of conspirators, instead of being Nora’s 
friends. You see,” she continued, with a faint catch 
in her voice, “I knew Nora’s mother, and, although 
she was older than I — I was her best friend. Per- 
haps you are familiar with her history, so you may 
well say that she did not deserve my friendship, but 
I am loyal to my friends, and believe one never was 
a friend, the moment he ceases to be one. I was 
able and willing to prove that friendship at a critical 
period of her unfortunate career. I sometimes won- 


96 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


der whether Esther feared that her child might be 
like her! If so, it was remorse that prompted her 
to take steps to keep Nora out of harm’s way — for 
she never repented her wicked life. 

“When she died she confided Nora to my care. 
At the same time Nora came to me, she was already 
engaged to be married. I see that you are surprised, 
but all I am going to say is, that it was broken off, 
and I think it did embitter her nature for a time. It 
was then that she took up literature as a solace — it 
was no more than a pastime then — but you know 
that it has since grown and developed, until it has 
become the serious business of her life. It was 
shortly afterward that she met Bradford Hoyt. He 
fell in love with her at first sight, and they were 
married. I don’t believe she knows just why she 
married him, but she would give you many reasons, 
as she did to me. 

“After marriage, she had rather a rude awaken- 
ing, when she realized that Bradford had married 
her for no other reason than because she was suit- 
able, and eminently fitted to become the mother of 
his children, for outside of the interest he has in 
his business, he has an all-absorbing passion of his 
kind. I almost think that his love for Nora was 
dependent upon this possibility. But that is absurd. 
The truth of the matter is, that Bradford loves his 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


97 


wife more than ever, but he does not realize it, be- 
cause his love for his little son blinds him to the 
truth.” 

“What do you think will happen?” 

“I hardly know — I hope nothing serious!” an- 
swered Edith uncertainly. “Nora was not in love 
with Bradford when she married him. One of the 
many reasons she gave for her marriage to him 
was, that he could give her a home — a place where 
she could work, undisturbed. That was silly of her, 
I think. Nora came near falling in love with her 
husband after marriage, and she would have, if she 
had got any response from him. Those were her 
very words, and it is so like Nora to say an absurd 
thing like that. 

“She told me her work meant more to her than 
anything else, but I know better. When the 
supreme moment came, and that was when little 
Eliot was born, I think one heart-beat for her would 
have fanned the embers of his wife’s love for him 
into a flame, but, the moment passed, and Nora’s 
pride being hurt, caused her to rebel, and deceive 
herself into thinking that she cares neither for her 
husband nor for her child. The time will come, 
however, when she will realize that she has lost them 
both — everything, in fact — ” 

“But — in the meantime?” 


9 8 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“In the meantime,” repeated Edith, “she is more 
and more drawn toward literature — and the sym- 
pathy in such work her husband refuses or finds 
impossible to give her.” 

“And, you think?” 

“I think Nora sees a great deal too much of 
Druce McAllister!” 

“I see what you mean, for Druce is artistic, 
warm-hearted, impulsive, adaptable — ” 

“Which makes him an exceedingly dangerous 
companion to enter into Nora’s life at the present 
time.” 

“And, what do you advise?” queried Mrs. Wayne 
anxiously. 

“I don’t know,” replied Edith gravely; “as I 
don’t really know just how far matters have gone 
between them.” 

“Do you think that she herself realizes she is 
drifting?” 

“No !” answered Edith, slowly shaking her head ; 
“I think Mr. Druce McAllister is far too clever to 
let her know that she is awake, before he is ready 
for her to look about her!” 

“You are making Druce out to be a villain — ” 

“I am making him out to be a man who is willing 
to play with fire, because he wishes to be burnt. 
Surely, you are not old-fashioned enough to be- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


99 


lieve in platonic friendship! Man, my dear, is not 
so wholly disinterested as that 

“Oh, I know it!” cried Cynthia impatiently; “but 
it depends on how well he plays his cards, I should 
say l” 

“Well, I think it is a great pity that Nora ever 
married !” 

At this moment a servant entered the room, and 
said that Mrs. Macaulay had driven up, and wished 
to know whether Mrs. Wayne would see her. 

“Of course. Show her in!” 

When the servant went out, Mrs. Wayne rose, 
and coming quickly to Edith looked earnestly down 
at her. 

“I wonder if Sheeda is the best friend in the 
world for Nora to have!” 

“My dear!” answered Edith softly; “remember 
that though we are friends of Nora’s, she would 
only listen to what we say with a cynical smile — 
a pitying one, perhaps, for we are no longer in- 
dividuals to her, but part of a system. She has 
drifted away from us — my dear. She has out- 
grown us — that is it, and all we can do is to try to 
save her from herself.” 

Mrs. Macaulay entered the room briskly, exhal- 
ing an invigorating breath of the outer air, which 
was chill and penetrating. 


IOO 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


She paused just within the room. 

“I never saw two such guilty looking women!” 
she said laughing. 

As her remark did not seem to call for an an- 
swer, both Edith and Cynthia laughed too. 

“What I came to suggest,” explained Sheeda, 
“was that we get up a game of bridge. Who could 
we get for a fourth? Why not Nora? Would you 
mind if I called her up on the telephone?” 

“Not at all!” said Mrs. Wayne. “I wonder 
whether she would come!” 

“Perhaps you don’t care to play;” suggested 
Sheeda, who had surprised a sudden glance between 
the two women, which she had not been able to in- 
terpret. 

“It was not for myself. I was wondering whether 
Miss Malcolm — ” ventured Mrs. Wayne tentative- 
ly - 

“Oh, I should love to have a rubber or so!” 
broke in Edith, who had her own reasons for 
bringing Nora and Sheeda together under her own 
eye. 

When Mrs. Macaulay had telephoned, the three 
women entered into conversation, while they waited 
for Mrs. Hoyt. 

In an incredibly short space of time, the lady 
made her appearance. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


IOI 


“How did you ever get here so soon?” inquired 
Sheeda. 

“Well, the chauffeur had gone to town, but — 
Druce ran me over — he was a very good substi- 
tute!” replied Nora smiling. 

Sheeda laughed, but the other two women ex- 
changed a quick look of mutual understanding. 


XIII 

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR 

The impressions received during that bridge game 
remained firmly fixed in Edith’s memory for many 
a day. For the first time, she realized how much 
Nora had changed. She was no longer the young 
girl fresh from the convent, and under the spell of 
a first love affair; she was a woman now, with a 
woman’s aspirations, for she had gained much in 
mental poise. 

The friendship between the two had evidently 
gone further than she had thought at first. This 
was an undeniable fact. Druce was becoming a 
factor in Nora’s life, but, so far, the woman did 
not seem aware of it. He was playing on the one 
string that he knew would respond, and he would 
continue with infinite patience to pluck at it until 
her soul vibrated in unison with his. The woman 
only knew that the man was helping her sympathet- 
ically with her work, the work that she loved; 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


103 


therefore, Miss Malcolm made up her mind that the 
girl was in no immediate danger, because she did 
not know that she was adrift. 

Cynthia's suggestion that Mrs. Macaulay might 
not be the best friend for Nora caused Edith mo- 
mentary uneasiness, until she concluded that she 
could scarcely be considered a negligible quantity 
for the present. She would have to declare her in- 
tentions before she could be recognized as a dan- 
gerous factor in the game. It was a game, for was 
not each one of them trying to discover a move 
that would change Nora’s destiny? 

In the years that followed, Edith had no reason 
to change her mind, for, as she made a yearly visit 
to Nora, she had a good opportunity for seeing 
how matters stood with her. 

It was not until a second child, a daughter, had 
been born to the Hoyts that she was to take an- 
other and a totally different view of the situation. 
The advent of this child wrought a distinct change 
in Nora’s nature, and for the first time, Edith saw 
that she welcomed the coming of the new life. 
The bond between the mother and child was all 
the stronger from the beginning, because Nora was 
able to nurse her baby, which made Edith call the 
little creature in her heart, the child of promise. 

To be sure, the friendship between Druce and 


104 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Nora continued, but, somehow, the birth of little 
Wanda had altered its character, and had taken 
away an element of present danger. 

Nora was working just as hard on her new novel, 
and Druce was ever at hand to help her, but, there 
was the new interest, which, if it did not actually 
supersede, did lessen the former absorbing quality 
of the work, to some extent. This was very pro- 
mising to Edith that all would still be well with 
Nora. 

Late one afternoon, many years afterward, Edith 
who was making Nora her annual visit, went up 
to the nursery with her to play with the children. 

“How old is Wanda, now?” asked Edith. 

“Nearly seven. Don’t you think she is lovely?” 

“Yes, dear, and she is exactly like you. Indeed, 
both of your children are beautiful, I think.” 

“I am glad you think so, for I am proud of them 
— both.” And she looked wistfully at the two chil- 
dren, who were playing on the floor, the boy with 
a train, the girl with a much battered doll. 

“Eliot is eleven, isn’t he?” inquired Edith. 

“Yes !” was the curt answer. 

Edith detected a reflection of the past in the 
shortness of this remark; the wound caused by 
Bradford’s neglect had healed, but the scar evidently 
remained. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


105 


“What am I to do with this dolly of mine ? She’s 
awful pale to-day!” cried Wanda, turning to Eliot. 

“Just hustle her on my train — that’ll fix her up 
all right.” 

“She ain’t well enough to travel yet. Doncher 
know she’s been terrible sick?” 

“What’s been the matter with her?” 

“She’s had measles, mumps, rheumatism and 
croup.” 

“My ! That’s fierce !” 

“Yes, the doctor sat up with her all night, and 
I never closed my eyes — did I, Janet?” 

“No, Miss Wanda — that you did not!” 

“Well, change of air would do her good — and it 
wouldn’t cost you anything extra,” remarked Eliot. 

“I’ll ask dad — he’s the doctor, y’know,” answered 
Wanda. 

Edith who had been watching the two children 
with profound interest, turned to Nora impulsively. 

“They are too sweet together — and Wanda is so 
much in earnest!” 

“Yes,” replied Nora listlessly; “she has a won- 
derful amount of imagination.” 

“Most children have. I don’t know which is the 
more important — imagination, or a sense of hu- 
mor.” 

“To a child I should think imagination was es- 


io6 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


sential, but to an older person a sense of humor is 
more important.” 

“Or a sense of the ridiculous,” suggested Edith 
smiling. 

“I don’t know what’s the matter with my train— 
it’s always running off the track! I’ll have to ask 
dad about it.” 

“I suppose you kill lots of people on that road?” 
inquired Wanda, speaking over her shoulder. 

“Oh, lots!” said Eliot blandly; “you see, it’s run 
just like a real railroad, and this is the time of year 
for wrecks!” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” agreed the child dubiously; 
“and that’s the reason I don’t want my sick dolly 
to go on your cars, because I’d hate to have her 
killed dead!” 

“Every mother thinks a lot of her child, but 
my road’s as safe as any of ’em — and it’s making 
money.” 

“I wouldn’t care about the money, if my dolly 
was killed — it wouldn’t bring her back to me — alive 
and kicking!” 

Just then, Bradford entered the room. Both chil- 
dren appealed to him at once. 

“I wish you’d fix this engine, dad!” cried Eliot; 
“I’m losing time and money, because the train is 
always getting out of order.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


107 

“Tell me what’s the matter with this dolly?” 
begged Wanda; “I’m afraid she’s dying.” 

Bradford put the train in order, and then, turned 
to his daughter. 

“Didn’t that medicine do her any good, the other 
day?” he asked gently. 

“No, she’s still sick, I tell you!” 

Edith suddenly went down on her knees, and 
straightened out a section of Eliot’s track, but Nora 
remained immovable. 

“What’s the matter with this young lady, pet?” 
asked Bradford mock-anxiously. 

“I don’t know !” replied Wanda tearfully. 

“Oh! we’ll fix her up all right!” exclaimed Brad- 
ford, “don’t you worry about that!” 

He mixed an imaginary potion, and then, turned 
to his son, who claimed his attention at this moment. 

Edith moved over to Wanda, and looked up at 
Nora. She surprised a look of pain on the mother’s 
face, and glanced quickly away. 

Nora, realizing that something was expected of 
her, rose and knelt by her daughter. 

“Is she warm enough?” she asked, solicitously, 
drawing the afghan closer about the doll. 

“Why, she has a fever — I’d think you’d know 
that, mother!” exclaimed the little girl, scornfully; 
“you always get things mixed.” 


io8 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“I’m sorry — I’ll try to do better next time!” mur- 
mured her mother contritely, and she sighed softly, 
though no one seemed to have noticed it but Edith. 

“Don’t you know what to do when a child has 
a fever?” asked Wanda. 

“Oh, yes !” said Nora, and Edith noticed the help- 
lessness of her tone. 

“Mother’s tired, I think!” interposed Edith, with 
a half glance at Nora; “of course, she knows what 
to do, when a dolly is ill.” 

Nora gave Edith a grateful look. Presently she 
rose, and approached her son. 

She stood, and looked down at him thoughtfully. 

“Does it go better now?” she inquired. 

“Yes, but you are standing in the way of the 
train. It’s going to pass soon — and it’s two minutes 
late now.” 

“Oh, is it?” she said; “how stupid of me not 
to have known it !” And, suddenly she drew 
back. 

Edith saw that, after a moment of hesitation, the 
mother returned to her former seat, and sat there 
silently watching, like some outsider, who had no 
part in the game. 

The husband was absorbed in his children, and 
paid no attention to his wife. He hardly appeared 
to be aware of her presence. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


109 


“Eliot!” he exclaimed; “put that signal straight 
— come here at once — Mary’s fainted!” 

Edith laughed, and watched Bradford with con- 
siderable amusement, as he gave his attention to 
each of the children in turn. Then, she looked up 
in Nora’s direction, but the mother had left the 


room. 


XIV 


love versus letters 

“Druce,” said Nora, one afternoon, as they were 
seated in her study, during what had been accepted 
as the daily working hour, “I don’t know how to go 
on with my book. Let’s talk it over, and inciden- 
tally, I wish you would tell me what you think of 
it, as far as it has gone.” 

“I like it exceedingly, and I think you have made 
all your points very cleverly. The chapter before 
the last one seemed to me to drag a little, but, you 
cured that in the following one. It was rather sad, 
but so charmingly done.” 

“You mean where the mother is unable to put 
herself in touch with her children?” 

“Yes, but — how did you ever think of such a sit- 
uation? It is pathetically human — almost true to 
life.” 

“It was taken from life — that’s the reason!” an- 
swered Nora, her voice trembling slightly; “you 
see, the other day I tried to play with the children, 
and somehow, I didn’t succeed. I was always get- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


hi 


ting in the way and doing the wrong things. I 
suppose I was tired — ” 

In the scarcely suppressed sigh with which Nora 
brought her speech to a close, Druce detected a 
shade of bitterness, and — other things as well, 
which he treasured up in his heart. 

“Still, it was clever of you to have thought of 
using it. It was just the touch needed. I have 
often wanted to ask you how you manage to evolve 
such splendid plots!” he concluded, looking fixedly 
at her. 

“Oh — the story itself is purely fiction.” But she 
carefully avoided meeting his eyes as she spoke. 

“They all seem such real characters that I could 
almost swear you had taken them from real life!” 

“It is possible to draw a character,” protested 
Nora feebly; “which seems life-like, and which 
many people would say they recognized as some 
one they had known, whereas — each one of my 
characters is simply a composite of a number of 
people whom I have run across — at one time or an- 
other.” And she looked in an almost frightened 
way at Druce, as she attempted to smile naturally. 

“I see!” he rejoined dryly; “now before we con- 
tinue our discussion of the book, I should really 
like to talk over those characters with you.” 

Reading assent in her glance, which was fixed 


1 12 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


upon his as if fascinated, he continued to speak, 
choosing his words carefully. 

“I like the lawyer who eats law for breakfast, 
who chews the cud of legal reflection flavored with 
dust from his law-books for luncheon, and who 
tries his cases over in the evening after dinner. 
The wife, and it's hard luck for her to be tied to a 
piece of parchment like that — makes a mistake to 
be so completely absorbed in her painting, but — I 
like the painter-chap who gives her advice ; he seems 
to me to be very well drawn, because he manages 
to keep people in the dark as to his real intentions.” 

“You mean the wife, especially, I suppose?” ex- 
claimed Nora, brusquely. 

“Yes. He was making love to the wife, and she, 
poor thing, thought he was only showing her how 
to paint. A dangerous position, indeed, for any 
woman.” 

“She was looking for sympathy — ” and then, she 
paused quite suddenly. 

“And she got it, didn’t she?” said Druce with 
an equivocal smile. 

“Yes, but you don’t seem to understand. I never 
meant the man to be in love with the woman. It 
never occurred to me that he could be in love with 
her. Really, the ego is so strong in every man. 
that he firmly believes no man and woman can 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


113 

remain in each other’s company for any length 
of time, but they must promptly fall in 
love.” 

“Really?” queried Druce in polite surprise; “I 
should think it would have been the most natural 
inference in the world.” 

“Perhaps,” assented Nora, as if the confession 
were forced from her; “but that would change the 
whole point of the story.” 

“And yet, it would be the most logical conclu- 
sion possible! I thought that was what you in- 
tended to do. Don’t you agree with me, that if a 
man and a woman are thrown together a good deal, 
it is inevitable that they should fall in love, sooner 
or later?” 

“I have just given you my opinion on this point,” 
she said with some heat. 

“How do you intend to end your story?” he 
asked with a sudden change of manner. 

“Really! I don’t know.” She was experiencing 
a re-action from her previous excitement. “What 
do you suggest?” 

“It’s hard to say. There are so many possible 
endings,” he admitted, with a certain amount of 
seriousness; “the title of your novel — I believe you 
are calling this one ‘Paying the Debt,’ should be of 
some assistance in helping us to work out the story 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


114 


to its proper conclusion. Of course, it depends on 
the point of view one takes — ” 

“The point of view! Yes, that makes all the 
difference in the world. Druce!” she said breath- 
lessly ; “you have awakened old ones — I don’t know 
which — oh! I can’t seem to make myself clear, I 
am afraid, but, I seem to have run up against a 
stone wall — and, I don’t know what to do with m> 
story.” 

“There are many ways of ending a book of that 
kind,” said Druce in his most persuasive and tactful 
manner; “you might have the painter people fall 
in love with each other, and then, in a thoroughly 
modern and rather banal way, have them marry, 
after she had divorced her husband!” 

“I wish you would be serious for at least two 
minutes at a time !” exclaimed Nora. 

“I am serious — I thought you knew me better 
than that!” said Druce, and his tone was such that 
she looked up sharply, to surprise a fire in his eyes, 
which confusing and troubling her, made her look 
quickly away. 

“The book will end naturally at the proper time, 
as everything else does — invariably,” he added 
quickly, for he was forcing himeslf to be calm; 
“don’t worry about it! Let it work itself out — as 
it will and must !” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


US 

She was silent, and was looking straight in front 
of her. 

“Can’t you trust me, Nora?” he began anxiously. 

“Yes — I do!” And the faint hesitation told the 
man that the battle with her was not yet won. 

He looked at the clock, and started to his feet. 

“By Jove!” he exclaimed; “it’s later than I 
thought. I must be off. Though Bradford is my 
friend, it might be better for me not to be seen here 
— by him,” he murmured, as he bent over her hand, 
and then quickly left the room. 

Nora sat immovable, like one stunned. 

Had Druce been speaking in parables, or had 
his words been uttered at random? 

The grating of a key fitted into the front door 
aroused her from her revery, and she rose, and 
passed quickly into the library adjoining. 

A rush of cold air, and the banging of the door 
followed. After hanging up his coat and hat, and 
catching sight of his wife, Bradford stepped into 
the library. 

“You are back a little earlier than usual — I was 
just going up stairs — to lie down. I must rest!” 
she stammered. 

“Just wait a minute — I’ve something to tell you!” 
cried Bradford excitedly ; “I made some easy money 
to-day !” 


n6 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Indeed!” She suppressed a yawn. “You must 
tell me all about it, later on, after dinner.” But 
she did not attempt to disguise the boredom in her 
tone, as she turned and left the room. 

Bradford gave a low whistle. 

“Bless my soul ! I wonder what the trouble is ?” 

He took two or three turns up and down the 
room, and without rhyme or reason, paused before 
the door of Nora’s study. Then he opened it and 
went in. 

He glanced at the bookshelves, at the desk with 
its mass of papers, and at the chair where he imag- 
ined Nora had just been sitting. He noticed that 
another chair had been placed near the first one, 
and somehow, it looked out of place. 

As he moved forward to push it aside, his eye 
fell upon an ash-tray on the corner of the desk. 
On it were lying side by side, the half-burnt ends 
of two cigarettes, one of which he recognized as a 
brand that Nora smoked. The other he picked up, 
and examined. It was a cigarette much affected by 
Druce McAllister. Becoming aware of this, he 
dropped it, and then sighing, turned away, and 
switched off the electric light. 


XV 


SHEEDA TALKS 

That evening at dinner Nora ate little; while 
Bradford, with eyes intent upon his plate, devoured 
greedily everything that was offered to him. 

Not a word was spoken during the meal, but after- 
ward, Nora who felt the effect of the strain, suc- 
ceeded in drawing Bradford out on the subject of 
his business, for anything was better than this un- 
bearable silence between them. 

Thus, the evening passed, but Nora was distinct- 
ly uneasy, because Bradford had not for one instant 
referred to Druce, though she was perfectly aware 
that her husband knew he had been there. 

Perhaps it was the effect of a guilty conscience 
which made her attach undue importance to this 
incident, but what had contributed to this feeling 
of anxiety, was the fact that her husband had 
omitted his perfunctory good-night kiss, and had 
closed the door between their rooms. There had 
been, too, a certain degree of finality about his ac- 


1 18 THE WIFE DECIDES 


tion which precluded the possibility of any protest 
on her part. 

The next morning, Nora feeling the need of com- 
fort, made her way to Sheeda’s house. She found 
herself in a quandary, and felt that she must have 
advice. To whom, therefore, should she turn for 
it but to Sheeda Macaulay, her best friend. 

Sheeda was in her morning-room, but she seemed 
quite willing to be interrupted in her writing. 

“I look on your coming as distinctly providen- 
tial, she said, rising and coming forward to em- 
brace her friend; “as I hate to tell so many lies in 
the morning; it seems so unnecessarily immoral — 
early in the day. But — what is the matter, child? 
You look pale and worried!” 

“I am worried, and — I must speak to you!” 

“Sit down, dear; I feel that this is going to be 
serious.” 

“I came to tell you, Sheeda,” cried Nora, sudden- 
ly, “that I don’t know what to do! You see, Brad- 
ford has become — unbearable, and — my children 
look on me as a nonentity — besides, I wonder 
whether my reaching out after sympathy has been 
a mistake — 

“Because I’m afraid Bradford knows about 
Druce, and attaches undue importance to the help 
he has been giving me in my work !” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


119 

“He does, does he?” exclaimed Sheeda, scorn- 
fully; “I must say that that is very tactless of him!” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“My dear Nora! I explained to you my views of 
marriage — that I considered it a contract, and that 
that is the only way to treat it, if one wishes to be 
free and happy. Don’t interrupt me! As the time 
passed you realized that you needed sympathy from 
the man you married, but you suddenly discovered 
that his nature was so limited he could not give 
it to you. This demand for sympathy came after 
marriage, and though Bradford did not recognize 
it as a part of the moral contract, you had accepted 
it as an integral and essential part of it. As you 
could not get that sympathy from your husband, 
you sought for it elsewhere, and Druce McAllister 
stood willing and ready to supply it.” 

“Yes, that is perfectly true — ” 

“It is unfortunate, I think,” continued Mrs. 
Macaulay, pitilessly, “that your children have not 
been able to play a more important part in your 
life, as mine have. I don't quite understand what 
it is that keeps you apart — ” 

“What difference does it make?” moaned Nora; 
“but, you know that I am proud of both my chil- 
dren, that I long to win them, and take them to my 
heart, but — I don’t know how !” 


120 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“That’s why I said it was unfortunate,” said 
Sheeda, “now my children have been a great com- 
fort to me, and I only wish yours could be the same 
to you. However, you’ve got your work to fall 
back on — to fill the void.” 

“My work requires tremendous concentration, 
but — Sheeda ! what do you advise me to do ? Shall 
I stick it out, or shall I take matters into my own 
hands?” 

“If you stick it out, it might please the world 
better; but, as you say it’s become unbearable to 
continue living with your husband, perhaps you’d 
better think about taking matters into your own 
hands, as you say!” 

“You advise me to leave him, then?” 

“My dear!” exclaimed Sheeda; “before I answer 
you, let’s look carefully at the facts of the case! 
You got your home — Bradford got the children, 
but — he did not give you the deference you exacted, 
or the sympathy you craved. It seems to me that 
this question of sympathy is the rock upon which 
your ship of marriage must sooner or later come to 
grief; that is why I counsel you to take the in- 
itiative, provided you have come to the end of your 
resources and patience. I suppose you will marry 
Druce, when you have freed yourself from Brad- 
ford—” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


121 


“I — had not thought of it!” began Nora, but 
Sheeda, with a laugh, took the words out of her 
mouth. 

“My dear Nora! that is one of the feeblest at- 
tempts at prevarication I ever heard. You needn’t 
tell me that he is not in love with you, and that you 
are not in love with him, or on the point — ” 

“I am not — I won’t have you say such a thing!” 

“Well — never mind! but — tell me what you in- 
tend to do.” 

“I came here to find out — ” ventured Nora, 
timidly; and then meeting Sheeda’s eye, paused 
suddenly. 

“I shall tell you then, though I’m afraid you will 
consider my views startling and decidedly progres- 
sive. I have always thought it distinctly immoral 
for a woman to continue to live with her husband 
if she does not love him. My second thought is, 
that, under the circumstances, she should free her- 
self, and marry the man of her choice!” 

Nora looked long and fixedly at her companion 
before she spoke. 

“If you found yourself confronted by such a 
proposition, would you act as you are advising me 
to act?” 

“I honestly believe I should, but — it would de- 


122 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


pend in a measure on the circumstances of the case. 
I am not certain — ” 

Nora rose, quickly crossed the room, and then, 
turned to Sheeda. 

“I am much obliged for your advice, my dear 
friend, for I believe you have given it to me from 
your heart !” 

Sheeda, who had been gazing fixedly at the 
carpet, looked up after a pause, with a faint protest 
trembling on her lips ; but it was too late, for Nora 
had gone like a shadow, gone — perhaps beyond re- 
call ! 


XVI 


MRS. WAYNE ACTS FOR THE BEST 

When Nora returned home she entered the library 
with the intention of going to her study, but, Cyn- 
thia Wayne, who had been waiting to see her, rose 
from a chair beside the fire, and intercepted her. 

“I wish to speak to you — Nora — you were on the 
way to your study — would we not be more free 
from interruption there ?” 

Nora, intuitively recognizing a new antagonist, 
led the way into her study. 

After Cynthia had entered the room, Nora care- 
fully closed the door, and looked inquiringly at her 
guest, whom she had motioned to a chair near her 
desk, where she had seated herself. 

Mrs. Wayne glanced at Nora, and smiled in that 
good-natured way of hers. But meeting no re- 
sponse, her expression changed to one of severity. 

“I shall not mince matters,” she said, looking 
earnestly at Nora; “and, you might as well know 
that you are being very much talked about in the 


124 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


neighborhood. Your name is continually being 
linked with that of Druce McAllister, and I wish to 
know whether there is any truth in what they are 
saying?” 

“The countryside is very kind to interest itself 
in my affairs — ” began Nora ironically. 

“People always interest themselves in anything 
that is out of the ordinary — ” 

“I consider that society has no business to meddle 
with my private affairs — ” 

“The members of society out here are your 
friends, and I think it is very ungracious of you 
not to care what they think about you — ” 

“Well — what do they say?” 

“They say that you do not love your husband — 
that your children mean nothing to you, and that 
you are receiving marked attention from a man 
who is making love to you under the guise of a fel- 
low-worker !” 

“That is not true! Mr. McAllister is merely a 
disinterested friend. People out here should have 
something better to do than to talk about their 
neighbors.” 

“You acknowledge that you have seen a great 
deal of Druce?” 

“Why should I deny it? Tm not ashamed of it. 
Has any one dared to criticize me for that ?” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


125 


“Of course they have! I see no reason why 
they should not, when you have defied the conven- 
tionalities in the blatant way you have !” 

“It is a piece of impertinence! How dare they?” 
But she quailed before the severity of Mrs. Wayne's 
glance, and her eyes fell. 

“Can't you realize your wrong-doing — that this 
man is only playing with literature to gain you? 
Can’t you really see that?” 

“No!” said Nora, in open defiance; “I cannot!” 

“My poor Nora! I did not think you could be 
so blind — so easily influenced. You will acknowl- 
edge that I am right, one day — I know that you 
will !" 

“Never!” cried Nora passionately. 

“Possibly not, and when you cannot or will not 
distinguish the difference between a casual interest 
in your work and — love for yourself !” 

“Druce has never told me that he loves me — ” 

“I don’t suppose he has — he is much too clever 
to throw down his cards until he is certain that 
the winning trick is his !” 

“What is there for me to say? You have made 
up your mind that Druce is a scoundrel, so that 
everything he does — every action of his, must be 
measured or weighed by your peculiar standard. I 
quite see that— oh, quite!” 


126 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Will you listen to me for a moment ?” begged 
Cynthia. 

“Why, certainly !” agreed Nora, rather insolent- 
ly ; “I might get a few ideas from you that I could 
use later on. Go on!” 

“I fully expected opposition — ” 

“Oh, don’t explain — I beg of you!” 

“You wretched girl!” cried Cynthia, angrily; “I 
shall not spare you. I shall tell you exactly what 
I think — what the world thinks — and if your eyes 
are not opened then, why — I wash my hands of 
you, that’s all! In the first place, you did not love 
Bradford when you married him — ” 

“Which was a distinctly immoral thing to do — 
I see that now!” admitted Mrs. Hoyt, compla- 
cently. 

“And now, you are thinking of freeing yourself 
from him, that you may marry your — affinity !” 

“Do you think he is really my affinity?” inquired 
Nora; “if you do, it would justify any action I 
might decide to take — ” 

“I do not agree with you at all !” announced Cyn- 
thia, stoutly. 

“Really, that’s a pity, for you see I firmly believe 
it would be much more moral for me to free myself 
from a man I do not, and cannot love, and, once 
free, marry the man I really loved!” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


127 


“The whole trouble with you is, that you are in- 
ordinately selfish, and you are as obstinate as a 
mule. You have but one view-point, and that is — 
self. What have you ever done to try to win 
your husband? Has it ever occurred to you that 
you should have made the attempt to do so ? Don’t 
you know there can be no happiness in marriage 
where there is a total absence of mutual under- 
standing? Furthermore, there must be forbearance 
— there must be something spiritual rather than the 
mere material relationship. Many marriages fail, 
just because the man and the woman won’t stop 
to think of this very thing — until it’s too late!” 

“That is really very interesting!” began Nora, 
but she stopped suddenly, as she realized in time 
that such levity was out of place. 

“If purely out of selfishness, you are giving up 
the love of a good man, you are wantonly destroy- 
ing the spiritual part of marriage, and you will be 
living in sin with your second husband, just as much 
as if you lived with him. without the sanction of 
the Church!” 

“That is very plain speaking!” said Nora, lean- 
ing her chin on her clasped hands; “but, unfortu- 
nately, I don’t agree with you — we haven’t the same 
point of view, you see!” 

“That does not make the slightest difference; 


128 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


because I am convinced that if you divorce Brad- 
ford, and marry Druce, you will be doing an im- 
moral thing, and one that will never be sanctioned 
by society. Surely, you must know that! Dear 
Nora!” she pleaded; “consider what you contem- 
plate doing, before, it is too late.” 

“Perhaps it is too late, already — ” suggested she, 
enigmatically. 

“Then — it is all true — what they say — tell me!” 

“I really couldn’t say, because I don’t know my- 
self !” 

“You have not actually decided to take any step 
yet?” 

“I tell you I have not actually made up my mind 
— and, besides, I should have to tell Druce first — ” 

“What do you mean?” asked Cynthia, leaning 
forward. 

“I mean I really couldn’t take the initiative. You 
don’t expect me to throw myself at his head, do 
you?” 

“How unsatisfactory you are!” And poor Mrs. 
Wayne sighed. 

“Yes. I suppose it will be a disappointment not 
to be able to tell your friends all about it — at first 
hand.” 

“I’m not certain yet, that I have failed — ” 

“Why?” asked Nora in surprise. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


129 


‘"Because you have practically disclosed your in- 
tentions.” 

“I wouldn’t talk about it as assured — not just 
yet — because you might be mistaken — ” 

“That is possible, but not probable!” 

“I’m not prepared to admit the distinction!” re- 
torted Nora, with fine scorn. 

“If that’s the way you feel about it, I have but 
one thing to say. You are a colossal monument 
of selfishness, and you will realize it one day — 
when it is too late to retrieve the ground you have 
lost. You will know, then, that it is all your own 
fault. When you decide to do this monstrous thing, 
every one will say, and rightly, that you have ab- 
solutely no excuse for doing it. Of course, you 
will probably say in your characteristic way, that 
you are forced to take this step, because you have 
been intellectually starved. That is ridiculous and 
childish, and, you will lose the respect of all your 
friends by showing them the smallness of your 
mind.” 

Mrs. Wayne rose, and adjusted her furs. 

“Must you really go?” inquired Nora, rising also. 

“Yes, and I think it wiser to tell you that we are 
not inclined to take Mrs. Macaulay, excellent 
woman that she is, too seriously, out here, so — I 
wouldn’t be guided too much by her theories, for 


130 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


that’s what they amount to — we are all well aware 
of that.” 

Bowing her head slightly, Cynthia swept from 
the room, leaving Nora rather dazed. Presently, 
she realized that Mrs. Wayne, her old friend, had 
not offered her her hand, in parting. She shrugged 
her shoulders slightly. 

“What do I care what they think?” 

And, with a sudden, unconscious motion, 
stretched both arms high above her head, and smiled 
her inscrutable smile. 


XVII 


TllE RIFT IN THE LUTE 

The next day being Sunday, Bradford went for 
his usual ride on horseback. 

The finding of those two cigarettes had worried 
him, but, he had at that time, no suspicion of the 
truth; he only thought he had been remiss in not 
entering into Nora’s interests, and that she had 
called in another to supply his place. 

Often, as he rode along country lanes, he thought 
out problems, but now, he was confronted with one 
which was not only strange to him, but with which 
he was totally unfamiliar. It would require, there- 
fore, all the more concentration, for that reason, 
and he could think all the better on the back of a 
horse, just as some men can collect their thoughts 
to better advantage when walking about, or lying 
in bed. 

Shortly after Bradford’s departure, Druce called 
up Nora on the telephone, and soon afterward made 
his appearance at the house. He tried to hide a 


132 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


smile, when he saw that Nora had been eagerly 
awaiting him. 

Druce was a born actor, and he knew that it 
behooved him to play his part carefully. He in- 
tended to make this interview memorable and de- 
cisive. He would make no mistakes that would de- 
feat his object — to force this woman to capitulate. 

“You wished to see me, Druce?” asked Nora, 
looking up at him from the depths of the chair she 
was sitting in; “what is it?” 

“I came to say that I feel I shouldn’t come here 
any more — ” he replied, in a low voice; “it seems 
to me dishonorable.” 

“Not come here again!” began she with a slight 
tremor in her voice ; “dishonorable ! I don’t under- 
stand—” 

“To your husband, I meant. It might appear to 
him as if I were stealing in like a thief. You see, I 
am always careful of appearances, over careful, 
perhaps — but it is better to be on the safe side.” 

“I see ! I see perfectly, but — I don’t see why you 
should consider my husband — he hasn’t shown me 
much consideration. Why Druce! You don’t know 
how much I have prized these hours we have spent 
together — and — I should miss you horribly! Sure- 
ly, you won’t desert me, just when I am beginning 
to depend upon you, will you?” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


133 


“I wouldn’t do anything to cause you one mo- 
ment’s unhappiness. I wasn’t thinking of myself — ” 

“I knew I could trust you — whatever they said !” 

“Who are 'they’ my dear?” 

“Oh — the people about here, who have nothing 
better to do than to interest themselves in the af- 
fairs of their neighbors!” 

“We should be above such idle gossip. We are 
strong enough to defy the opinion of such people, 
aren’t we?” 

“Yes, but we can’t afford to defy public opinion, 
can we?” 

“Yet that’s just what we are doing — by being so 
much together.” 

“I suppose we are, but it seems strange to me 
that one has to be bound down by conventionality — 
entirely !” 

“It is hard to draw the line, and — satisfy — every 
one, isn’t it?” suggested Druce. 

“Still, it could be done, couldn’t it?” 

“Perhaps!” he admitted, as if grudgingly; “but 
— it’s rather dangerous to play a game of that kind. 
You see, I was thinking of you — ” 

“I know, and I appreciate your consideration — ” 

“Don’t! You wrong me — you put me in a false 
position — really you do!” 

“Druce!” cried Nora suddenly; “this situation 


134 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


must be thought out. We must face it. We can’t 
get away from it. What are we to do? What 
ought we to do?” 

“We shall just have to go on with it — ” 

“Yes, and show the world we are not afraid!” 

“Why should we be afraid? We haven’t done 
anything wrong!” 

“No!” replied Nora, and suddenly, looked away. 

“I admit, though, that any one who did not 
understand might be apt to think so — ” 

“There are always disagreeable people every- 
where, but — how could they conceive such a 
thing?” 

“How indeed!” was the dry rejoinder. 

“You know that we are not doing anything 
wrong!” insisted Nora. 

“No, I don’t suppose we are, and — I have loved 
these hours we have spent together — they have 
meant more to me than I can express !” 

“Druce ! Druce !” 

“Why should they end?” 

“They cannot!” 

“Dear! don’t you understand? No! I can’t go 
on. I must go — your husband might return at any 
moment — ” 

He rose abruptly, and backed slowly to the door, 
but Nora did not change her position. He turned 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


135 


away, and as he reached the threshold, paused be- 
fore he went out. 

Nora looked up quickly. 

“Don’t go ! Don’t go !” she said. Then she jumped 
quickly to her feet, and stretched out her arms to 
him. “I could not bear to have you leave me, now !” 

He turned and took a few steps forward. 

“What do you mean?” he asked passionately. 

“I mean that you shall not go — ” 

“Until—” 

“Until you tell me — ” she hesitated. 

“That I love you? Then you shall hear it now, 
and you — do you love me? Tell me! I must know 
— I must know!” 

Nora looked at him, and suddenly, she grew white 
as death. 

“I am afraid!” she breathed. 

“What is there to fear?” 

He saw that her eyes were wide with apprehen- 
sion. Soon, however, the eyelids narrowed, and 
she threw back her head. 

“I love you!” she cried, and suddenly she clung 
to him, until with a cry, she pushed him from her, 
and clasped her hands convulsively together. “Some 
one is coming! My God! If it should be my 
husband !” 

McAllister stood perfectly still, his soul still in 


136 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


his eyes, but as Bradford entered the room, he re- 
covered himself, and smiled at Hoyt, in greeting. 

“Well, I’m afraid I must be going!” he said, and 
held out his hand. 

Bradford deliberately thrust his hands deep in 
the pockets of his coat. 

“Yes — I think you had better go — unless you 
wish to be kicked out! I give you fair warning 
that if I ever find you here in my house again — it 
will be the worse for you. Go !” 

McAllister shrugged his shoulders, and left the 
room. There was nothing to say. 

Husband and wife were alone, but she did not 
move, she 'seemed frozen to the spot. 

Bradford walked quickly up and down the room, 
then stopped to look out of the window for a 
moment. Suddenly turning toward her, with both 
his arms outstretched, he said with an effort : “Sit 
down, little woman. I have something to say to 
you!” 

Nora bent forward, and buried her face in her 
hands. 





«« IF ! EVER FIND YOU IN MY HOUSE AGAIN — IT WILL BE THE WORSE FOR YOU, GO! ,f . 

Page 136 . 









XVIII 


THE WIFE DECIDES 

At Nora’s unexpected action, her husband drew 
back. He found himself in an unfamiliar environ- 
ment, and he did not know what to do. 

Bradford had taken many risks in business, but 
when he did so, he knew just how far he could 
go; but here was a very different state of affairs! 
Yes, his wife would have to make the first move. 
That was certain. 

He looked at her, but she still remained immov- 
able, with her face hidden from him. He gazed 
at her stupidly, his hands hanging loosely down at 
his side. He did not know whether he ought to 
rush forward, take her in his arms, and try to 
comfort her, or wait. 

He waited, and his thoughts rushed madly on. 
If she really did love this fellow, could he undo the 
mischief, or had it gone too far for that? He 
might be wrong, and to accuse his wife unjustly, 
would do more harm than good. Could he have 


i3« 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


been mistaken, when he had almost caught them 
in each other’s arms? 

It did not seem possible ! He was looking at the 
question from his accustomed, narrow point of 
view. He looked again at his wife, and hesitated. 

Presently Nora uncovered her face, and sat bolt 
upright. Bradford saw with surprise that she had 
not been weeping, but that she was exceedingly 
pale, and that her face was absolutely expres- 
sionless. 

“What do you wish to say to me?” she asked, 
in carefully modulated tones. 

“I wish you would tell me what all this means!” 

“What does what mean?” 

“Everything. Nora, you know as well as I do, 
that we have not been getting on as well as we 
should — lately!” 

“I am perfectly well aware of that,” said Nora 
coolly; “whose fault is it? Yours — most decidedly 
yours !” 

“That’s not fair! Haven’t I been good to you? 
Haven’t I given you everything you asked for, yes, 
and more, too. Haven’t I paid your bills without 
question? Haven’t I allowed you to have what 
friends you wished — and haven’t I permitted those 
same friends of yours to come and go as they 
pleased — to make a convenience of my house, with- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


139 


out a word of protest? Haven’t I left you free to 
do your work? I can’t for the life of me see what 
you have to complain of !” 

‘‘I don’t suppose you could! Yes, you have done 
each and every one of these things, and I suppose 
I should thank you, but — I don’t. I’ll tell you why. 
I don’t thank you for supporting me, because as I 
am your wife, you are bound by law to do so. I 
would not have thanked you if you had objected to 
my friends, for they never interfered with you, and 
— they amused me. I blame you for two things. 
First, your lack of sympathy in my chosen work. 
Second, for your lack of recognition of me, as the 
mother of your children.” 

“My dear wife! Can’t you see that you are 
striking a false note, by talking in that way ?” 

“No! I am not. I have stood your neglect for 
years, and I must speak. You have been so buried 
in your business, that you have failed to see what 
was going on in your own house. You entered into 
your children’s pleasures with zest, their interests 
meant everything to you — mine — nothing!” 

“I thought I would only be in the way: If I had 
known !” 

“That is a lie!” interrupted Nora hotly; “you 
never gave me or my work a thought — ” 

“Why did you ever marry me?” 


140 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“I wish I knew!” she said bitterly. 

“Well, you did marry me, and — it’s for better, 
or for worse — ” 

“I know the rest. Don’t go on !” 

“As you please, but, I want to show you why you 
are false to yourself, and by it, false to your work. 
Would not any woman who poses as being literary 
— well, who is literary, then — do everything she 
could to be left undisturbed? Wouldn’t she be 
miserable if any one did disturb her? You don’t 
answer. Well — it is so! When I am at work on 
some business proposition — one that requires both 
thought and concentration, I demand to be alone. 
As I understand it, those two lines of work are 
similar in that respect, and I think that my work, 
and the results I have obtained, have been more 
successful than yours just for that reason, because 
I have worked them out alone.” 

“That may be! But I don’t suppose you would 
ever ask any one for help. You’d rather die. Your 
innate selfishness and conceit would preclude the 
possibility of that.” 

“The least we say about conceit and selfishness, 
the better! But one thing I do know, I wouldn’t 
give a fig for a man who couldn’t look after his 
own affairs himself — without help from any one 
else!” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


141 

“But I am a woman, and I am different. I de- 
manded both sympathy and help, because I needed 
them. You gave me neither, but — I got both. Can 
you blame me for seeking them — elsewhere?” 

“I blame myself for being so blind,” said Brad- 
ford, sadly; ‘Til try to do better, though — if you’ll 
only give me the chance.” 

“I can not, and I’ll tell you why. When Eliot 
was born, you gave all your love to the child — I 
counted for nothing!” 

“Indeed ! well — why shouldn’t I have been proud 
to have a son — tell me that! Wasn’t it what I had 
hoped and prayed for for years? You are making 
a mountain out of a mole-hill! If I did forget you 
for a moment, it was not intentional — I swear it! 
Yes, I did forget, and I am sorry. It was only 
human, after all!” 

“It was a terrible mistake !” 

“Why do you make that an issue? It is utterly 
ridiculous!” sneered he, and then, in a different 
tone; “you love your daughter, don’t you?” 

“Yes!” she said passionately; “I wonder if she 
will ever guess how much!” 

“I wonder!” exclaimed Bradford, looking fixedly 
at his wife; but she avoided his eyes, and looked 
hastily away. 

“You are cruel!” she cried, shrinking away from 


142 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


him ; “but I don’t believe you know how much you 
are hurting me — ” 

“I hadn’t the slightest idea of doing that. But, 
Nora, if the child doesn’t love you, it’s your own 
fault — you have never tried to win her — I don’t be- 
lieve you know how!” 

“Hush!” she moaned; “you shouldn’t have said 
that!” 

“You are right I am sorry. Ah! Nora, deep in 
my heart I love you — ” 

“It is too late for that!” And, thinking she 
recognized a false sentiment, rose to her feet, and 
confronted him, but he anticipated her. 

“This situation must be ended!” he said, but 
Nora caught him up quickly. 

“And I have decided to end it without delay !” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean — ” and her cold, incisive tones wounded 
him to the quick; “that I am going away!” 

“Are you going alone?” he asked breathlessly, 
for a horrible suspicion crossed his mind. He 
seized both her wrists as if in a vice, and tried to 
look into her eyes. 

“No!” she answered briefly, and then; “let me 
go — you are hurting me!” 

“Who is going with you?” he asked, as he released 
her, and ‘he peered at her as if he were near-sighted. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


143 


“Wanda! You shall not prevent me from taking 
her with me — I shall take her — but — I leave you, 
Eliot ! Good-bye !” 

“Stop! why are you going?” 

“Because I am not well!” 

“That is not true!” he cried angrily; “you are 
going to meet Druce McAllister — deny it if you 
dare!” 

“Before God ! I do deny it !” she cried desperate- 
ly; though she knew it was but half the truth, for 
she had made Druce promise her faithfully not to 
come to her, until she sent for him, until she should 
be free. 

“But — what reason am I to give for your leav- 
ing? It’s very sudden — very unexpected — I can’t 
seem to grasp it, and people will talk — ” 

“You may be certain of that! Well — you may 
say that I am going West for my health. It is not 
a lie. It is true. The doctor advises a change ; he 
says I may get over it.” 

“Nora, you are right to go away — this is a matter 
you must think out by yourself! When you return, 
we — ” but he stopped speaking, and looked away. 
He did not know how to go on. He was a broken- 
hearted man. 

When he raised his eyes again, he was alone. 


XIX 


THE DIVORCE MILL 

Nora had been living in Reno for several months, 
and she realized that the time for her freedom was 
drawing near. 

The necessary papers had been filed, and when 
the six months should have passed, she would still 
have to wait forty days, in case her husband should 
appear and file an objection, before her divorce 
could be made absolute. She was suing on the tech- 
nical grounds of incompatibility of temper, and, in 
her petition, she asked for the custody of their 
daughter Wanda. 

Not a word had passed between Nora and Brad- 
ford since their parting, though she had written to 
one or two friends, and corresponded frequently 
with Druce. His last letter to her was dated Phila- 
delphia, but he wrote that he was making prepara- 
tions to leave shortly for the West, and that he 
would establish himself in her neighborhood, that 
he might come to her at a moment’s notice. 

Nora wrote in reply, telling him the day he w^s 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


145 


to join her in Nevada, and that she hoped all would 
go well ! 

How well she remembered the first few days after 
her arrival in this motley colony! How she had 
gone to a hotel, until she found a small cottage 
adapted to her needs! 

In the beginning she had been too busy to think 
about anything, except the unpacking, and then, a 
number of small things had to be bought for the 
house. After these details had been attended to, 
there had been nothing else to do, so she found 
leisure to look about her, to see what the possibilities 
of her new residence and its surroundings offered. 

What could she do to make the time pass ? There 
seemed nothing to do but to wait. She knew no 
one in the place. She had no desire to make ac- 
quaintances. 

She walked aimlessly about. She saw both the 
men and the women who were in Reno for the same 
purpose as herself, but she did not feel like making 
any advances towards them, lonely as she was. For 
after all, what were these people or their affairs to 
her? 

She threw herself feverishly into her work, and 
for a few days, everything went smoothly. But 
she soon gave it up, because it made her homesick 
for Druce. 


146 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Her thoughts turned to Wanda. Now, that the 
child was removed from her father’s influence, why- 
should she not set about winning her? Yes, that 
would be a good plan, for, sooner or later, she felt 
in her inmost heart, that she would have to get 
closer to her daughter in some way, if she ever ex- 
pected to gain her love and devotion. 

To do this, she planned an hour of lessons in the 
morning, and took the child for a drive in the after- 
noon. The lessons, however, were not a success, 
for Nora knew she had no gift for teaching, and 
the child, in some subtle way, becoming aware of 
this, grew restless and fidgety, and ended by looking 
longingly at the door. 

The mother was in despair, but, as yet, she would 
not acknowledge herself beaten, so she substituted 
a play hour for the lessons, and encouraged Wanda 
to bring her toys into the sitting-room. But Nora 
had no aptitude for such childish games, nor the 
ability to take the initiative, so the experiment was 
soon brought to a natural end. 

The little girl was plainly more at home in her 
own play-room, and besides, Nora had neither the 
spirit nor the desire to make an effort to continue 
what had been a failure from the outset. 

For a short time the drives were a success, but 
gradually, the novelty wore off, and the sameness 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


147 


of these pilgrimages grew irksome, especially to the 
child. She often asked pointed questions, to which 
the mother evaded giving direct answers, and Wan- 
da felt that something was being kept from her; 
wondered what it was. It was all so strange to her. 
But the strangest part of it all was, that her father 
never came home to play with her any more. In 
her childish way she tried to find out what it all 
meant, but of course she could not, and when 
night came, Janet put her to bed with a charming 
fairy story, and Wanda’s baby troubles were for- 
gotten for the moment. 

Nora was disheartened, and the daily outings 
were given up. The child went out with Janet, 
while Nora found herself more and more in danger 
of becoming farther adrift than ever before, more- 
over, she was horribly lonely and dispirited. 

In course of time, as her interest in this strange 
colony deepened, she softened toward it. She be- 
gan to meditate and to draw conclusions. 

It was entirely foreign to Nora to indulge in a 
spirit of self-questionings. But she did. Suddenly, 
she asked herself why she had come to this place! 
Had her conduct been altogether blameless? She 
evaded an answer to this last question, but she knew 
she had come to be free. Her heart exulted in the 
thought, for, when that time should come, she 


148 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


would marry Druce McAllister, the man she loved! 

She surprised herself by laughing. Yes, she 
would make friends — it did not seem to be a very 
difficult thing to do, and she would take an active 
part in the life of the colony! 

As time passed, this new, gay life began to pall 
on her. There was nothing in it, because even to 
what had once been variety she had grown accus- 
tomed, so that it finally resembled the ceaseless 
grinding of some automatic tread-mill. 

On the last morning, she sprang out of bed with 
fresh vigor. She was to be released from bondage 
that afternoon, and a song of happiness was sing- 
ing in her heart! She continued to sing as she 
dressed, and a few minutes after, when Druce’s 
letter came, she felt she could know no greater hap- 
piness. How near it brought him to her! The 
past seemed very far away, and — he was coming — 
he was coming! 

She hugged Wanda to her, in her exuberance of 
spirits, until the little one cried, and then, when 
she tried to make up with her, she shrank from her 
mother, and burst into tears, for she could not un- 
derstand what was the matter with her. 

Under ordinary circumstances, the child’s atti- 
tude would have angered her, for she was often 
impatient with her, but now, she was too happy 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


149 


to give the matter more than a passing thought. 

She went on singing through her packing, and 
when the trunks were brought down stairs, ready 
to be taken away, she thanked her stars that Brad- 
ford was but a memory, but that Druce McAllister 
was the man who would make her future happy 
forever ! 

At a quarter to three, her lawyer called for her. 
She greeted him gayly, and she felt she was tread- 
ing on air. It was not until she reached the steps 
of the courthouse, that she suddenly paused. 

A horrible thought entered her mind. She 
pressed her hand against her heart! Suppose her 
husband was waiting for her inside! 

Just as quickly her mood changed. She shrugged 
her shoulders, and with a light laugh, ran for- 
ward. 

The formalities were soon at an end. Almost 
before she knew it, she was again standing alone 
in the hall-way, with the decree of divorce in her 
hand, trying to make out its meaning. The ink on 
the paper was still wet, yet she could hardly grasp 
the fact that she was entirely free ! 

Tears stood in her eyes, and she held the sheet 
closer, for, somehow, she did not seem able to de- 
cipher the lines. Surely, it was growing darker. 
She held the paper nearer, and then, as if com- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


150 

pelled, looked up. A man was standing in the 
doorway. It was Druce ! 

She waved the paper at him, and, as he held out 
his arms to her, rushed forward. 

“My darling! come — we have very little time!” 
he said, tensely; “we are to be married at once. 
It is all right. Come — hurry!” 


BOOK TWO 


THE REAPING 

I 

AN EARTHLY PARADISE 

That afternoon Druce and Nora were married. 
He made all the arrangements, and she acquiesced, 
like a woman in a dream. It was not until she and 
her new husband were sitting side by side in the 
train bound for Santa Barbara that she awoke to 
the fact that they were really married. Even then 
it seemed too wonderful to be true. 

“Wanda and Janet?” she suggested lazily, hardly 
caring for the moment what had become of them, 
she was so completely and supremely happy. 

“Oh, I’ve made arangements for their comfort — 
you needn’t worry about them — ” 

“Later on — I should like to see Wanda — not yet, 
though — ” 

“Yes, later on, but not now! This is my day — 
my hour!” 


152 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Druce! Oh, my darling — my darling !” 

“Nora, you really love me — tell me!” 

“I love you, yes, my own — I have never known 
what it was to be truly happy before.” 

The train sped on, and the two sat holding each 
other’s hands like young lovers. Nora looked out 
of the window from time to time, with a happy 
smile upon her face. What difference did it make 
where they were going, so that they would be to- 
gether ? 

Trees, houses, hills and valleys flew by, and Nora 
looked at them almost as if they were unreal. 
Everything must be unreal except the present, 
everything — everything ! 

There were other people in the coach, but the 
lovers were unconscious of their presence. 

“Dinner is now ready in the dining-car. First 
call for dinner!” 

Druce looked annoyed, but Nora smiled back at 
the man. 

“I do believe I am hungry, dear. Aren’t you?” 

“No,” replied her husband, “it’s only six o’clock. 
I couldn’t possibly eat yet.” 

“Thank you!” responded Nora, “I suppose I 
should take that as a compliment. Popularly, we 
are expected to feed on love, but I am hungry, so 
come along, and — remember this is our wedding 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


153 


breakfast. We mustn’t keep the others waiting — 
we can imagine that they are our guests.” 

“I don’t want any one but you, but — if you are 
hungry, we’ll go in!” 

“In a minute — I must see whether my hat is on 
straight — ” 

“Bother the hat!” 

“Not much of a compliment, but — you are a 
dear!” 

Nora would not have been Nora if she had not 
made a mental reservation even in the midst of her 
happiness. She could not help contrasting this 
second honeymoon with that other one when she 
and Bradford had made their first journey together. 
How perfect in one case where it had been sadly 
lacking in the other ! Dear old Druce ! How ador- 
able he was, and how he loved her, and she him! 
She was thoroughly and absolutely content, more, 
she was at peace. There was nothing to jar, noth- 
ing to interfere, and she made up her mind that she 
had never truly loved before. 

Here there was no differentiation of her love. 
She had entered this estate of matrimony with eyes 
wide open, without a thought that she might be con- 
demned as for a fault. Not the faintest flutter that 
she might by the larger majority of right-thinking 
people be looked on as an outcast even passed her 


154 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


by, for she cared neither for the opinion of the 
greater part nor for the minority, for she was a 
law unto herself. She flattered herself that she was 
above criticism or reproach. 

Nothing mattered except that she clung to her 
happiness all the more desperately, it was so won- 
derful. She did not even stop to consider the ethics 
of her act, for she had sought and found content. 
Where the bee pauses to sip, there would she, with- 
out any other thought or desire save that Druce 
whom she adored should be by her side. 

She was hungry even in the midst of her bliss, 
and she ate an exceedingly hearty meal, and so did 
her husband, though she concealed the amusement 
this sight gave her, for she feared to hurt his feel- 
ings. Another thing which gave her the greatest 
amount of delight was the fact that this great big 
husband of hers was evidently self-conscious. He 
resented the amused glances of the other people 
who were dining in the car, he looked haughtily 
at them, and in every movement, in every act 
showed the newly married man. Nora smiled in- 
wardly, though with the feeling that this was no 
new thing for her, she had been married before, 
and she could look about her and see the humor 
of it all. 

It was at this point that the shadow of the past 


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155 


obtruded itself, and for the moment deflected her 
thoughts from the present. But it did not last long, 
this foreign and undutiful act of mind. 

“I have dined well, dear — I couldn’t eat another 
thing if I tried, could you?” 

“No, darling, I couldn’t — I didn’t know I was 
hungry — I suppose I was too excited to realize it.” 

Druce paid the check, and they returned to their 
compartment. 

“The smoke afterward is the best part of the 
meal,” exclaimed McAllister, as he handed Nora a 
cigarette, and blew out a cloud of smoke, and then 
he took her in his arms. 

“Better than that?” queried the wife. 

“No, a thousand times no! Nothing could be 
better than that. Nora ! do you realize that we are 
man and wife?” 

“I’m trying to — but, I can’t yet, can you ?” 

“No, I can’t — please pinch me, and see whether I 
am awake!” 

“I’d rather kiss you, my own dear husband — ” 

“A blow from you would be a caress — ” 

“Naughty boy ! What a flatterer you are !” 

“No, I am not — I mean every word I say. Don’t 
you believe me?” 

“Yes, of course, I do — I really do!” 

“You are adorable — you are divine! I love 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


156 

you — I love you — I shall always love you.” 

Nora puffed away in silence for a space. His 
words made her thoughtful. Would he always love 
her as he was doing at this moment? Then a feel- 
ing of remorse seized her, but she dismissed the 
thought as unworthy. Of course, he would love 
her always. She would be his, and he hers forever ! 

So began this dream journey! The image of 
Druce would be graven on her heart, sleeping and 
waking, from this day until the end. The feeling 
of unreality continued for many a long day, and the 
woman dreamed that she was happy, that she had 
gained her heart’s desire, and she laughed to keep 
back the tears of joy from falling. 

Her life held all that she had prayed for, all that 
it seemed possible for it to contain. 

“Druce!” she said on the last day before they 
arrived at their journey’s end; “where are we go- 
ing?” 

“To Santa Barbara, of course. I thought you 
knew that.” 

“Oh, yes, I knew that — but, I mean where are we 
going to live — not in a hotel — ” 

“Silly child ! no. I have taken a little house. It 
is almost buried in flowers — ” 

“Love among the flowers! Ah, Druce, you are 
making me too happy.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


157 


“How you take the words out of my mouth! I 
was just going to say that!” 

“You dear!” 

The train slowed up for the last time, and Nora 
rose to her feet. The parcels and packages were 
gathered up, and the first station of their journey 
came to an end. 

They alighted from the coach, which had been 
their home for the last three days, and walked along 
the platform. 

Their carriage drive took them through many 
charming streets and squares. Nora looked about 
her with increasing interest. So this was where she 
was going to live. This was where she and Druce 
were going to be happy together. She strove to 
familiarize herself with her surroundings, as they 
passed along, but she could not. It was too much 
of an effort. She did not wish to make an effort 
just yet. She preferred to dream, just to dream, 
that was all, for the present. 

She knew what the dream was like, but she did 
not wish to thrust aside the veil of clouds and see 
the sun face to face. It was not that she feared, 
but she was too happy, and she felt she could not 
bear its brightness for some time to come. 

The carriage was turning in at an old-fashioned 
gateway, almost smothered in blossoms, and beyond 


158 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Nora caught a glimpse of a cottage fairly buried 
beneath the weight of its sweet-scented burden. 
She gave a great gasp of surprise, and her eyes filled 
with tears of happiness. 

“Oh, my darling, is this our home? I am too 
happy — it is too much — you are so good — so good !” 

For a moment she recoiled. She feared she 
had tempted fate. Then she turned, and meeting 
her husband’s smiling eye, hid her face on his 
shoulder. 

The next moment he was helping her to alight. 
Then he was offering her a chair, and she heard 
his voice calling out: 

“Bring the tea out here — Mrs. McAllister is 
tired.” 

She sighed softly, and closed her eyes. 

It was only a dream after all. It could not be 
anything else! 

A lovely purple light was in the west. It is the 
light of love, she thought, as she looked at the after- 
glow through half-closed lids. 

“Just put the tray down on the table — we shall 
want nothing else for the present.” 

And at the sound of the voice she loved, she 
smiled divinely. 

She made sure that they were alone, then she 
spoke. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


159 


“We are going to be very happy — my own dear 
love.” 

“Yes,” he echoed, “very happy!” 

And he tried to fathom the expression in those 
eyes that held him, but he could not. 

“My wife!” he murmured softly; “my wife!” 

Why try to understand? What difference did it 
make? 


II 


LOVE AND MARRIAGE 

The honeymoon was waning, and Druce and Nora 
were again sitting in the gloaming. 

“Druce ! I have been perfectly happy — what day 
is to-day?” 

“It’s the day after yesterday, and to-morrow 
will soon be here.” 

“Is that the way you feel about it?” 

“Yes, of course, don’t you?” 

“I was wondering — ” 

“What, dear?” 

“Whether — that is — if you loved me as much as 
at first.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” 

“I don’t know, but men are so different from 
women. Do you really love me best of all?” 

“You know I do, besides, there’s no one else I 
could love.” 

“Could there be any one else — am I not enough ? 
Are you tired of me already? Druce!” 

“No, my darling, I am not tired of you — why, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


161 


how could I be? You are so literal — so exact. 
Love is not like that. It is a fever — a dream — in- 
sanity, if you will.” 

“Love, yes, but not marriage.” 

“What do you mean? You say that men are 
not the same as women in love, and then, you draw 
a distinction between love and marriage.” 

“And I mean it — about men.” 

“But what about the rest of it?” 

“Ah! love is madness — it cannot be stable. It 
is an existence — -ideal — irresponsible, but — mar- 
riage is different — quite different — quite different.” 

“In what way?” 

“In marriage one does not lose one’s head — at 
least one is not supposed to — ” 

“Then — love and marriage are separate?” 

“Love is a thing apart, but marriage is an 
estate — ” 

“Not to be entered into lightly or unadvisedly — ” 

“It would be impossible to do that, but in mar- 
riage one feels more secure — whereas love knows 
no laws.” 

“Is there no love in marriage? Don’t we love 
each other?” 

“Of course there is love in marriage, but it is 
not the same kind of love as the other.” 

“I don’t feel like contemplating that sort of thing 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


162 

yet. I want madness — I don’t want to be kept in 
bounds — I want freedom!” 

“That’s because you are a man — because you 
have a man’s way of looking at love — at life.” 

“You say that because you are a woman, and 
the dearest of your charming sex.” 

“Yet one must be sane in love, if it is to last.” 

“How can one be sane in love? It is a paradox.’* 

“One can be sane in love, but not in passion. 
There is the great, the basic difference. Our love 
is ideal, and not temporary.” 

“Nora! I can’t see what you are driving at, and, 
my dear, little woman, what is the use of discussing 
these intricate phases of love? Not now, at least. 
I frankly confess, I haven’t the slightest interest 
where I am going, or what I’m doing, except that 
I’m loving you — you whom I adore — ” 

“Ah! if I lost your love, it would kill me!” 

“There’s no danger — ” 

“Is it because you do love me, or because I hap- 
pen to be a woman who is — on the spot ?” 

“I don’t understand you.” 

“Do I satisfy your ideal of what you hoped I 
would be?” 

“Nora, what are you driving at?” 

“Nothing in particular, but — I am frightfully 
jealous, did you know that? I am tenacious of my 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


163 

own, and I want you — for myself — alone. I want 
to go on loving you. I want you to go on loving 
me until the end.” 

“Don’t worry about that, if that’s what’s bother- 
ing you.” 

“As long as we both shall live. Druce, we must 
be together. Dear one, promise me !” 

“How foolish you are! Why should we not be 
together? come, what’s at the back of your head? 
Out with it!” 

“Only this, my own, dear husband. In great 
happiness, as in every other crisis, there’s sure to 
be a reaction. If our love is not founded on a 
sure and solid foundation, it will fall like a ruin 
about us. I think we know where we stand, but 
it does no harm, to look about us, even in the midst 
of our joy.” 

“You speak as if you were uncertain.” 

“No, it is not that. I was only imagining the 
worst, in order to realize more fully the perfection 
of the present. I live like you in the present, but 
unlike you, I am on the lookout for quicksands — 
not that they really exist, you understand, but — 
just to be ready. That is all. You mustn’t think 
too much about what I’ve said. Women are full 
of fancies, whimsical — hardly understanding them- 
selves — I was only supposing, you see, but — now 


164 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


I’m quite satisfied. Ah ! I am happy — so happy !” 

Nora with all her faults, her charm, her con- 
trasts, was only a woman after all. For days she 
had been content to drift. The past was ugly. She 
thrust it behind her, and turned her face resolutely 
away, for this new love meant so much to her. 

She had often dreamed of just such a charmed 
existence, and surely it was all a dream still. 

What was it that had happened? Why, she had 
given up unhappiness to find happiness, but she 
could not bear to lose it, now that it was once hers. 
She had been playing a game, when she had ques- 
tioned Druce as she had done, for she felt that she 
must test him, and strive to satisfy herself as to 
his sincerity. If she should make a mistake, what 
would it cost her to lose him and love! It would 
be unbearable! 

She was convinced that she had never loved 
Bradford, also that he had never loved her. It 
was therefore easy to dismiss him into the recesses 
of the shadowy past. If there had been any love 
between them, she might have been content to say 
that she had lost him, but no, she had cheerfully 
thrown him carelessly and heedlessly aside. Now 
with this new happiness enveloping and absorb- 
ing her being, she strove to forget all that had gone 
before. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


165 


Curiosity alone had made her do this, but fearing 
she might have shown her hand too plainly, she had 
paused and smiled at him. Though he was mysti- 
fied, he accepted her mood as one that was purely 
feminine, and therefore incomprehensible. 

“At present, love is to you — all,” she said softly. 
“I should like it to be so, but it always seems you 
are afraid to pause and look about you — ” 

“Why should I pause? What is there to find? 
I want nothing but you — you.” 

Nora gazed at him, smiling wistfully, but said 
nothing. It was more prudent to remain silent. 
Her fears were personal. He would not under- 
stand them. Her qualms might only serve to dis- 
concert and unsettle him, for he could not see with 
her eyes. Yes, it was best to live in the present, 
after all. There was no danger there. None at 
all. Besides, she could see where they both were 
going, provided she kept her eyes wide open, while 
he could see nothing but her for the moment. How 
long she would hold full sway over him, she could 
not foretell. That was still in the clouds. But 
why worry, when there was nothing to worry 
about ? 

His voice roused her from her day-dream. She 
looked up expectantly. 

“What do you mean by saying that love is all 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


1 66 

to me now?” And she was startled, though she 
smiled. 

“I mean that you are so completely under its 
power that you consider nothing else. You are en- 
thralled. You cannot think of anything else. You 
are like a man in a dream. When will you wake ?” 

“Why should I wish to wake? My dream is one 
of bliss.” 

“I love you just as much. But yours is a man’s 
way. You are carried off your feet. You are like 
one who is under a spell. You cannot think of 
anything but me. I have awakened first to reality. 
I had forgotten everything but you. I remember 
now that I have a daughter. I have a duty to per- 
form. I must win her love, too. I must do every- 
thing to win her to me. It is my right.” 

“You are satisfied, then. You say you have been 
living in a dream. You say you are awake. That 
you waked first. You speak of a need — a duty. Am 
I not to be all in all to you ?” 

“You are my love — my desire, but my child’s love 
I must possess too. You cannot understand how I 
can bear the burden of two loves. It is because they 
are different, that I can divorce them. You cannot 
do this, and I thank God you cannot. I am all the 
more sure of you — of your love — of your care — ” 

“Nora, I wish you would stop this kind of talk. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


1 67 


I suppose you know what you are talking about, 
but ” 

“It is only that I love you so much that I could 
not bear to know any different existence.” 

“I guess we both feel the same about that, but 
as I said before, love is enough for me, and I want 
to go on dreaming — ” 

“Yes, you shall, dear, but Wanda is coming to- 
morrow, and I must get ready for her. Tell me 
you are not jealous of her! You won’t grudge 
me her love, if she will only give it me. You won’t 
let that change anything between us. Everything 
will go on just the same, won’t it? I’m sure it 
will. It won’t be my fault if it don’t. You’ll be 
to blame. You know you will, you dear!” 

In answer, he took her in his arms, and kissed 
her. 

“Ah! dear one, I love you too much!” 

And she sped away from him, for she was over- 
whelmed with joy. 


Ill 


NEWS FROM HOME 

The following morning there came a letter from 
Sheeda. It had been forwarded from Reno. She 
opened and read it eagerly. What memories it 
evoked, memories that she had fancied dead or for- 
gotten! For the first time, she realized that she had 
left friends behind. How far away it all seemed, 
that other life! Incidents long forgotten, came back 
with startling clearness. Conversations she had had 
with Sheeda, with Mrs. Wayne and others. How it 
had annoyed her to have Mrs. Wayne criticize Shee- 
da, because she herself had not agreed with her 
view! 

Dear Sheeda ! It had been a wrench to part from 
her. Had she not stood by and defended, advised 
and comforted her? She had been the most reason- 
able, the most sensible of them all. Nora did not 
realize that this was so, because Sheeda had merely 
voiced her own sentiments. She told Nora what she 
wanted to hear, but Nora was too self-centered to 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


169 


know this. She thought Sheeda believed in herself, 
which she did, and that she was sincere, which she 
also was, but the point of view was at fault, 
of which neither of the women was aware at the 
time. That was the basic mistake. It had made 
very little difference, though, for Nora was destined 
to tread a certain preordained path, and the stimu- 
lus of her friend had been but a slight determining 
factor ; but it had comforted her to feel that another 
was in sympathy with her. If Sheeda had opposed 
herself to Nora, the latter would have believed she 
was not sincere, sympathetic, or that she had not 
proved herself the real friend she had been seeking. 

One piece of news distressed Nora. Sheeda wrote 
that she was not well. There was nothing the mat- 
ter, nothing definite, at least. She had had a good 
deal of rheumatism in her arm, and felt out of sorts. 
The doctors had failed to help her, and she was 
frightfully depressed. She had begun to lose her 
color, and was much thinner, but of course, all these 
disagreeable symptoms would disappear when she 
began to feel better. Tennis was left, and walking, 
but she tired so easily, that she had to rest a good 
deal. It was a bore not to feel well, and she was 
determined not to give in, as long as there was 
nothing definite the matter with her. 

Mrs. Wayne was not getting on well with her 


170 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


husband. Nothing serious, though. He had been 
drinking, and was rather attentive to Faith Carter, 
who was evidently awake after a long sleep, and be- 
ginning to take notice. Her husband, that stupid 
Malcolm was away from home a great deal, on busi- 
ness. Business! Mary and Edith were not speak- 
ing. Some family row, and the Blatchfords were 
spending a great deal more money than they were 
credited with. The Middletons were entertaining 
huge parties, and where the money comes from, no 
one knew. 

Bradford was going abroad. His son seemed 
to have outgrown his strength. He lived for the 
boy. He never speaks of you. He seems happy, 
but is changed. Much quieter, and went nowhere. 
He was living the life of a hermit, but was supposed 
to be making mints of money, and still wrapped up 
in his work. Sheeda wrote that she had seen him 
to speak to only once, and he seemed subdued. Many 
say he had been in love with his wife. Sheeda sup- 
posed that Nora would not be especially interested 
in such gossip, when he no longer belonged to her. 
How was Druce? Was he a success? Why did 
she not write? Surely they were or had been 
friends. 

Was their friendship to come to an end, just be- 
cause Nora was away, and had a new husband? 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


171 

That would be a poor kind of friendship. Sheeda 
supposed Nora would not come east for a long 
time. Why should she ? She had a new home, and 
she should be happy. If she had not been utterly 
contented, Sheeda was certain she would have 
written. She wished to be remembered to Druce. 
She had always liked him. He was clever. He had 
probably not thought of architecture since they were 
married. Don’t let him give it up ! She must be a 
real help-meet. 

What about her own work ? She must have been 
too busy loving her new husband for that. She 
was like a young girl, and Druce like a young man 
with a bad case of calf love. How ridiculous, but 
how absolutely perfect! Was she happy, or was 
the honeymoon beginning to wane? Was the gilt 
off the gingerbread, and had she found her idol had 
only feet of clay after all ? People can have feet of 
clay, and still be very nice, so don’t take her too 
literally. 

She said she intended to use the very faintest, 
almost the shadow of a figure of speech. Figures 
of speech should be applied with a very fine camel’s 
hair brush to be effective. She was awfully fond 
of Nora, and would Nora please answer all her 
questions, for the writer stated that she hated to 
be exact, but Nora would know and understand. 


172 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Jim Truxton was to buy a house at Devon, it must 
mean that he was going to be married at last. 

Nora folded the letter carefully. She would 
answer it, when she had time. At present, she had 
so much to do, getting ready for her child. Dear 
little Wanda! she must have everything to make 
her contented, and Nora busied herself with getting 
the child’s room ready. 

Into the midst of this picture of loving duty came 
Druce. Nora rushed at him, and threw her arms 
about his neck. 

“Do you like it? Do you think Wanda will be 
happy here? Is there anything you can suggest?” 

Nora looked at her husband, as he surveyed the 
room critically. How fresh and young he looked 
in his grey flannels, and immaculate white shoes! 
He was very good to look at, she thought, but only 
a boy, with his curly hair, and his mobile mouth. 
His face had latent strength, though, and perhaps 
determination. Yes, Sheeda was right, at least she 
hoped so, and that Druce would go far one day. 

“It’s very dainty and nice,” he said at last. 
“Where did you get that chintz? It must be Eng- 
lish. I never saw such a pretty shade of grey, and 
such a soft carpet. No, I can’t suggest a thing. It 
is quite perfect as it is.” 

“Don’t you think I have managed the dormer 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


173 


window cleverly ?” she asked, looking at him ten- 
derly. 

“Yes,” he answered; “but where did you ever get 
the idea of hanging a curtain that way? It is the 
most original thing I have ever seen. You are a 
witch, and I love you. Not because you are 
a witch, but because, my darling, you are 
you!” 

It was almost time for Wanda to arrive, and 
she confessed that she felt nervous about the 
meeting. 

“What time does the train get in? You sent the 
carriage to meet her, didn’t you? Oh, Druce, she 
ought to be here soon!” 

“Yes, I made all the arrangements. By Jove! 
it’s almost twelve o’clock. I had no idea it was so 
late.” 

“We must hurry. I want to be there when she 
arrives. I couldn’t bear to go to the station, though, 
I was afraid — ” 

“Why? It would have seemed more natural.” 

“Yes, I know, but, you see, I haven’t told her 
about you — ” 

“By George! you haven’t? Well, she’ll just have 
to accept me, I guess.” 

“It’s going to be hard to explain. I never 
thought about it before. I’ve been too busy — loving 


174 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


you, dear. I wonder when I began. Long ago, 
I’m afraid. Long before I was aware of it. 
Druce, dear, do you love me — do you?” 

“Yes,” he answered passionately; “but, I won- 
der if you know how much!” 

They walked on, his arm about her, while she 
looked lovingly up at him. Slowly they descended 
the broad stairway, and then with a start, she broke 
away from him. 

“I thought I heard a carriage coming. Oh, 
Druce! if it should be my Wanda? What am I to 
say to her? How explain? What am I to do? You 
stay here, inside, within call, and I’ll go out to meet 
her. Please!” 

“All right!” 

Nora made her way to the verandah, and shading 
her eyes from the sun, scanned the driveway. 
Nothing was in sight. She stood there motionless, 
though her heart was beating wildly. 

She could not banish from her mind home pic- 
tures from the past. She shrank back, for there 
was cruelty and mockery in them. 

Two children were playing on the floor of a 
nursery. She, the mother sat apart, solitary and 
sad. She did not know how to join them in their 
games. She could not help them to enjoy them- 
selves. She could not decide when disputes arose, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


175 


because she did not know what to say, to do, and 
she felt that the children did not love her. She was 
there, but they had forgotten her. Would it always 
be so? The little son was not well, and now her 
daughter was coming home. 

How would she be greeted by her? Would any 
love for her be shown by the child, or would she 
speak to her like a stranger, hang back shyly, and 
turn to the nurse, Janet, who had been her com- 
panion for so many years? Why had not she, the 
mother, taken a more intimate interest in her chil- 
dren? Why had not she been the companion? It 
had been a fatal mistake, but perhaps it was not 
too late to recover lost ground, and win her way 
into one child’s heart. 

The carriage was making its way along the drive. 
It seemed to crawl, it approached so slowly. Nora 
took a step forward, her hand on her heart, as she 
checked the glad cry which sprang unbidden to her 
lips. In the carriage were seated a little girl of 
ten years, and beside her a grim, sour-faced guard- 
ian in black. 

“It is my Wanda!” murmured the mother, but 
she seemed to shrink back imperceptibly as the car- 
riage drew up to the steps. 

The little girl descended, and looked around at 
her nurse, as if she were confused. 


ij6 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Go and kiss your mother, child, don’t you see 
she’s waiting for you?” 

Wanda obeyed, and went forward, until she was 
on a level with the mother, who was afraid to clasp 
her in her arms. It was then that the little one 
caught sight of Druce, who was standing in the 
doorway with a rather amused expression on his 
face. Her face began to pucker and she rushed 
away with a cry to Janet. 

The old woman caught her up and petted her, 
soothing her with endearing words. 

“She’ll be all right in a minute. It’s only that 
she’s afraid of strangers.” 

Nora, who had forgotten that Druce was just 
behind her, thought the words applied to her, and 
shrank back with a moan. 

Druce sprang forward and took her in his 
arms. 

“She meant me, dear, not you,” he said gently. 

“Yes, of course, I know, but, my darling, didn’t 
you see, she — never — kissed me — oh, Druce!” 

“Never mind, dear Nora, perhaps she was fright- 
ened, or tired. It’s a hot journey here from Los 
Angeles. You attach too much importance to the 
incident.” 

Wanda, prompted by Janet, spoke to her mother, 
who turned toward her eagerly, hungrily. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


177 


“How are you, mother? I’ll kiss you, if — you 
will tell me who — that man — is !” 

But Nora could not speak much as she wished to, 
she was too nervous, and she stared at her daughter 
with a feeling of terror, so the child with a whimper 
ran back to her nurse. 

“Take him away! He’s making fun of me. I 
don’t like him. I want my daddy!” she screamed 
hysterically. 

“For shame, Miss Wanda, after your promise to 
be good ! Oh, ma’am ! I’m sorry she’s carrying on 
so bad — ” 

But Nora did not hear, for she had hurried into 
the house, and up to her room, where she sat stiffly 
on the edge of the bed, a mutinous and dry-eyed 
figure of misery. 

“I’ll make her love me!” she said desperately at 
last. 


IV 


WANDA MAKES A FRIEND IN DRUCE 

‘‘Can I come in, ma’am?” 

It was Janet’s voice, and Nora bade her enter. 

“I’m sorry Miss Wanda should have behaved in 
such a silly way, just when you were looking for- 
ward to her coming, and all that. It upset you, I 
can well see — ” 

“It’s a matter of no consequence,” answered Mrs. 
McAllister, springing up, and trying to speak cas- 
ually. 

“But it is,” persisted the old woman. “It’s a 
reflection on the way I’ve brought her up — ” 

“It’s a judgment on me from heaven for not hav- 
ing done my duty. I’ve been at fault, and I’m 
being punished. I do so wish her to love me — ” 

“And she will, if you only have patience. She’s 
a moody child, and she takes strong likes and dis- 
likes—” 

“To my husband, you mean?” 

“Well, in a manner of speaking — yes. But don’t 


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179 


you be worriting, ma’am, she’ll come round. It’s 
knowing how to take her, that’s all.” 

“And that’s what I’ve never known how to do — ” 

“You’ve never set your mind on it. You see, 
there’s only one way to get at a child, and that’s 
to go easy. You can’t drive them, for they’ll be 
up against you at once, and you don’t get no fur- 
therer.” 

“I suppose so, but, Janet, I need her love. I 
must have it. She’s getting too old to be entirely 
under your care. Besides, it’s my place to see to 
her education, her pleasures — ” 

“Yes, it is, ma’am, and I’m glad to hear you 
say so. You see, before, you were taken up with 
your scribbling, and there was no one else.” 

“Except her — father !” 

“IBs not my place to blame you for what you 
thought best to do, ma’am, but he did have the tak- 
ing way with children. They looked for him, and 
he knew just what to do — ” 

“Hush! don’t go on! That’s over and done 
with.” 

“I beg pardon, and — I do hope you are happy. 
I’ve lived a long time with you, but I wouldn’t 
presume — ” 

“No, of course not — you’re not the gossiping 
kind. I understand. Yes, I’m happy — happier than 


i8o 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


I’ve ever been in my life. Fd be happier still, if 
only Wanda — ” 

“Oh! she’ll come round to you in the end, only 
it’s natural that she should feel a little strange-like 
at first — ” 

“Yes — yes!” exclaimed Nora in a stifled voice, 
“but now go! Wait, does the child like her room? 
Is it like home to her ? Has she said anything about 
it ? Is she going to be happy here ?” 

“Why, she’s crazy about everything. She’s been 
running about the room, fingering things, and coo- 
ing with pleasure. Oh, it’ll be home for her all 
right. I’ll get her toys out, and that’s all she needs 
to keep her happy.” 

“I wish you would let me do that, when the 
trunks come,” asked the mother wistfully. “It 
might make a difference — it’ll be a start, and 
everything depends on making a good beginning — 
impression, you know.” 

“That it does, ma’am.” 

“Very well, now go down to your dinner! It 
ought to be ready. Where is the child?” 

“You’d never believe it, but she’s with Mr. Mc- 
Allister.” 

“She likes him then — oh! it’s going to make it 
easier for me. Does she know who he is?” 

“No, ma’am, she thinks it a guest he is. The 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


181 


news ought to be told to her, but it’ll break her 
heart it will, for she’s rare fond of her father, and 
that’s the truth.” 

“It is natural! Now go!” 

“Yes’m, but I wish to say one thing. I’ve served 
you faithful, but if the child asks me questions, I’ll 
have to answer them. I don’t. want you to think 
I’m working against you, but — you can’t fool a 
child, and that’s flat!” 

When the door closed, and Nora was alone 
again, she gazed about her as if bewildered. Then, 
impulsively she went over to her writing desk, and 
pulling out a sheet of paper, began a letter to 
Sheeda. She must pour out her heart to some one, 
and Sheeda would understand. She had been so 
happy, and now here was the first faint rift in the 
lute. But, perhaps, she was exaggerating. God 
grant that she was! 

“Dearest Sheeda: — 

Thank you so much for your letter and the 
news it brought me. I am so sorry you are 
not well. Do, please, take good care of your- 
self, and let me know how you get on! Your 
letter was like a breath from the past, the 
pleasant part, and it cheered me to hear all 
about the people at home. I am glad Brad- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


182 

ford is more human. Perhaps the lesson was 
good for him. I hope he will profit by the ex- 
perience. I don’t believe I am frantically in- 
terested in him, but I bear him no ill-will. It 
was his misfortune, not his fault that we could 
not get on. He never understood me, but now 
I am the very happiest mortal on this earth, 
for I have Druce. Wanda has come, but it is 
the same old story. She has been too much 
with Janet, and I, because I thought the child 
did not love me, did not take enough trouble to 
win her in the beginning. This is the only 
thing that makes me unhappy, though, perhaps, 
it can be remedied, but it is going to be hard 
work. It needs patience and tact. Sheeda! 
I too have changed. I am softer, more human, 
and, my dear, it is love that has wrought this 
miracle, I am convinced. I have not done any 
literary work, for I haven’t had time. Be- 
sides, Druce is too dear, and I love him with 
my whole heart, mind and soul. 

Thank you for the letters of introduction. 
I am sure they will be invaluable. It was like 
you to send them. I wish to make a start here, 
and sooner or later Druce will wish to make 
some friends. I don’t think the first blush of 
our happiness can ever return in all its glory, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


183 


once it has faded, for then the madness of 
those first days will calm down into the sanity 
of married love. Good-bye, and write soon 
again. 

Your loving 

Nora.” 

From her window she looked down on the stretch 
of lawn in front of the house, and an amazing 
sight met her eye. In and out of the shrubbery 
ran two figures. Her husband and her daughter. 
Both were laughing merrily. 

When she descended the stairs, she paused on the 
verandah to watch unobserved the game of hide- 
and-seek, which still continued with unabated vigor. 

Druce, happening to look up, caught his wife’s 
eye, and smiled. Wanda, following his glance, met 
her mother’s eye, but she did not respond to the 
wistfulness in it. She stood there with a frown on 
her face, because her fun had been interfered with. 

“Haven’t you anything to say to me, dear child? 
I am your mother, you know.” 

“Yes, I know,” replied the child, with a peculiar 
smile, “but why do you come and break up our 
game? We were having such fun. You always 
do things of that sort.” 

“Don’t speak to me like that! Your manners are 


184 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


very bad. I shall have to take you in hand. We 
must begin lessons soon. You don’t wish to grow 
up to be an ignorant little girl, do you ? Come, tell 
me you are sorry for your bad behavior !” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be bad. I was 
afraid of the man. I like him now. He’s bully! 
He plays games finely.” 

“Does he, well, I am glad. Come, kiss me, now ! 
I insist.” 

The child obeyed, and then stood awkwardly by 
her mother. 

“Don’t you love me, Wanda?” inquired Nora 
anxiously. 

“Yes, but something inside me keeps it in. He’s 
gone !” 

“Never mind him! Do you know who he is?” 
asked Nora suddenly. 

“No, but I like him!” 

“He is to be your new father — ” hastily. 

“Oh, mother, you’re joking! Why, could I have 
a new father, while my own dear daddy is alive? 
I wish he would come back to us.” 

“He is not coming back,” said Nora slowly; “I 
hope you will love me as much as you did him.” 

“Not coming back!” inquired Wanda, as if she 
could not take in the meaning of the words; “not 
coming back?” she repeated in a lighter tone. “Do 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


185 


you know I thought for a moment you were in 
earnest? I think I like being with you. You are 
so full of jokes. ,, 

“Listen, child, do you love me?” 

“All little girls love their mothers, so Janet says, 
but to tell the truth I don’t know you very well — 
not as well as my nurse. I have always been with 
her, or — daddy.” 

Nora looked at the child with wide open eyes. 
Did she know what she was saying? Was she try- 
ing to wound her? It could not be! These refer- 
ences to the man who had gone out of her life 
must cease, but she could not close the child’s mouth 
without hurting her. She could not, she must not 
do that. Was this to be one of the crosses she 
would have to bear? 

Why should she have to bear a cross? What 
had she done to make that necessary? The law 
had freed her from a man she did not love, and 
she had married the one man she loved. Surely, 
there could be nothing wrong in that. Not ac- 
cording to the present standard of the world’s opin- 
ion. There had been a time when a divorced 
woman was spurned as one accursed, but people 
were becoming more enlightened. The public had 
to be educated, that was all! At this thought, she 
laughed. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


1 86 

“What is it — another one of those funny jokes, 
mother ?” 

“No, dear; but now run along, there is Janet 
looking for you. Wanda, my child, before you 
go, I want to ask you to try and love me. You don’t 
know how much I — need you. You will love me, 
won’t you, darling?” 

“Of course, I’ll try, if you want me to, but I 
can’t promise to make a success of it just at first. 
But — I’ll do my best. I can’t do better than that. 
Can I, mother?” 

“No — of course not!” replied Nora, very quietly, 
and the child evidently satisfied that she had done 
her duty, ran off with a merry shout to join her 
nurse. 

“Janet, dear Janet! I’m coming. Wait for me!” 

The poor mother turned a shade whiter as she 
heard the ring of sincerity in her daughter’s voice, 
and looked up to meet Druce’s eye fixed on her 
questioningly. 

“What is the matter, my dear? Is it Wanda? 
Haven’t you made much headway, or has she un- 
consciously been telling you some hometruths?” 

“Nothing is the matter,” answered Nora steadily; 
“it’s only that I have a headache. I may be 
hungry.” 

“I thought you looked a little pale. Well, lun- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


18 7 


cheon is ready now. I’ve no doubt the child’s ar- 
rival has upset you — ” 

“Oh, dear no! Why should it? I’m not quite 
as sensitive as that!’’ 

But she turned her head away and pressed her 
palm against her throat. She was lying, but she 
did not wish him to know it. There must be 
nothing but honesty between them. 

“You’ll lie down before tea, won’t you, dear?” 

“No, I won’t do that. A little walk will do 
me good. Sheeda sent me some letters of intro- 
duction.” She held them out to him to read. “Mrs. 
Jimmie Ashton, Mrs. Alfred Dorian, and Miss 
Hargreaves. I think the Ashton woman sounds 
promising. I think I’ll go there.” 

Druce looked at her earnestly as she passed him 
with bent head, and frowned. As she reached the 
steps, she turned and forced a smile. 

Druce looked relieved, and followed her into the 
house. 


V 


A WOMAN OF THE WORLD 

Mrs. Ashton was at home, and proved to be a 
charming woman of the world. Nora was at once 
in complete sympathy with her. 

“If you hadn’t come to-day,” remarked Ethel 
Ashton; “I should have waived all ceremony, and 
have looked you up. Sheeda wrote me about you, 
and I have been very anxious to meet you ever since 
reading her letter.” 

“Did she tell you I had been divorced, and had 
remarried immediately after I got my decree?” 

“Yes, she did mention it,” assented Mrs. Ashton 
lazily ; “but it was quite unnecessary, for when one’s 
private life becomes public property, it is impossible 
to travel incognito.” 

“I hope you do not mean that unkindly — ” 

“Oh, dear no! I never have any — ulterior mo- 
tive, as the novelists — the yellow ones — put it, and 
I am painfully frank. I have a host of friends — 
acquaintances, I mean — and I treat them all alike. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


189 


I give advice, when asked, and one may take it or 
leave it, as one pleases. I discuss people’s most pri- 
vate affairs with them, but I never presume to inter- 
fere unless I am consulted. I am the human 
sympathy account, and I have no doubt you will 
come to me when you are in trouble, just as the 
others have done. One good thing about me is that 
I am safe as the grave, and therefore respect a con- 
fidence. I am a sort of mother confessor to society. 
If you knew all that I did, you could break up as 
many homes as you would wish, without a strain. 
It would be too easy to make it interesting, though, 
but I don’t believe you’re that sort, are you?” 

“No, I am not, but why do you ask?” 

“Well, in the first place you are a problem — every 
new arrival is — you have been given to me by a 
mutual friend, and I am proving you, just like any 
algebraic problem, that is all.” 

“Do I come up to the standard?” 

“It is not a question of standard — it is a ques- 
tion of proportion — ” 

“What on earth do you mean?” 

“What you are to the rest of the world as I am 
to some one else. Do you see ? It isn’t a thing that 
one can explain — one must just see it — like family 
expressions. It spoils them to attempt explanation. 
Now, do you understand?” 


190 THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Yes, I suppose every one has his or her place. 
I never thought of it before/’ 

“Of course — you’re clever to have seen that so 
quickly. I’m sure we shall get on famously. I 
think your husband knows my husband, Mrs. Mc- 
Allister — ” 

“Where did they meet ? I had no idea they were 
friends. That should make a fresh bond of sym- 
pathy between us. I hope you approve of me, and 
are going to like me.” 

“I like you better than I thought I should. But, 
you forget I do not know you very well yet. I 
only know you superficially. After you have shown 
me your real self, I shall be better able to judge. 
I don’t know what you mean by a fresh bond of 
sympathy. Just because our husbands are friends? 
Husbands really count for very little now-a-days, 
unless they belong to some other woman, and I 
shouldn’t dare to have a flirtation with your hus- 
band until I knew you better.” 

Nora laughed, for the humor of all this was de- 
lightfully infectious. 

“I really don’t care for serious flirtations, unless 
there’s something to be gained by them. In most 
cases a flirtation that means nothing is so much 
more amusing, for it requires no strain, that is, if 
the man knows the game well.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


191 

Nora was trying to study her new-made friend, 
but she presented so many sides, and ran ahead so 
fast, that it was all she could do to obtain more 
than a fleeting glance of a series of brilliant pictures. 

“I like you so much — ” she began, laughing in 
a breathless sort of way. 

“That is very nice, because I think I see a great 
deal in you to like. I don’t usually go so far at a 
first interview ; still, have a care, for being a woman, 
I sometimes change my mind.” 

Really, thought Nora, what a delightfully re- 
freshing woman this was! 

“You’re original, but you’re only beginning to 
find yourself. You’ve had experience, but you 
haven’t learnt much by it. That will come — by and 
by. This is the first time you have had the oppor- 
tunity to digest all that you have taken in in the 
past. You have lived fast, and you hardly realize 
all that’s happened. You will have to have your 
eyes opened, and sometimes, that hurts. That’s a 
different kind of experience, and the sort that 
counts.” 

“Do you mean that I’ll have to be unhappy?” 

“You may or may not be unhappy, but, sooner 
or later, you must come to a full realization of life. 
You must self examine yourself, in order to learn 
the truth about yourself. You must find out where 


192 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


you belong in the scheme of things, if you really 
want to make a success of yourself, socially or 
otherwise.” 

“That sounds like a novel — ” 

“And yet, one does read sense in books some- 
times. But I read from life. I find it more trust- 
worthy. No offence to the novelists, though. They 
have to feel superior to the rest of u$, or else, they 
would lose confidence in themselves. They wouldn’t 
be able to write anything worth while. Then again, 
they have to lay it on with a very thick brush, or 
no one would understand what they were driving 
at. Sometimes they are in danger of using too 
fine a brush, but — I’m getting too near the danger 
mark, and besides, we’re talking about real people, 
not things.” 

“You’re very original and entertaining!” 

“Am I ? Well, you are very attractive, and very 
feminine, which appeals or should appeal tremen- 
dously to men. I suppose you are frightfully in 
love with your husband, and inordinately happy!” 

“Yes, I am happy, and — I would be the happiest 
woman in the world, if — but I will not bore you 
with my own affairs — ” 

“It won’t bore me at all. It will help me to know 
you better, if you care to speak out about anything 
that troubles you — isn’t your husband turning out 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


193 


satisfactorily? Men are often like that. Before 
marriage — after marriage! I know them well.” 

“It’s not that. Druce is a dear, and we love each 
other dearly. It’s my daughter — not his — she’s ten, 
and — I — she — ” 

“I understand,” said Ethel gently ; “ you and she 
are not in accord. Let me tell you more. I know 
these cases so well. She has been taken care of by 
a nurse — ” 

“But how did you know all this? It’s all true, 
and — she speaks of her father — all the time. I 
cannot bear it — ” 

“As ye sow, so shall ye reap!” 

“Yes, I suppose that is true, but — how can I ever 
get the child to love me — to give me her confidence ? 
It is not right that a servant should take my place.” 

“There’s no use in railing against what is your 
own fault. You didn’t begin right with the child. 
You didn’t realize that you should have taken your 
proper place in the beginning. Forgive me for 
speaking so plainly. It’s the only way, if I am to 
help you. Again, you can’t get away from dis- 
agreeable things by pretending they don’t exist. 
That’s nonsense!” 

“What must I do to retrieve my error?” 

“You must have patience. Everything will come 
right, if you go slowly. Of course, there will be 


194 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


disappointments, but go ahead, and don’t mind 
them! You must learn to be above such things. I 
suppose you find it hard to manage children — to 
get in touch with them. Some people have the gift 
naturally. You are evidently not one of those 
people. That makes it doubly hard. But the prize 
is worth working for. You have no other chil- 
dren?” 

“Yes,” interrupted Nora, /T have — a son, and — 
I have never told a soul this — I don’t know why 
I’m telling you — I would give my life’s blood to 
see him for one minute — to clasp him to my 
heart — ” 

“Thank you. I appreciate your trust. You have 
the mother feeling — you love your children — you 
are in no danger — it will save you — ” But she 
paused abruptly, for she had been speaking her 
thoughts aloud. 

“I love my son — it is the same old story. My 
children hold me in contempt. My daughter is with 
me. The law gave her to me, but — the other — my 
son is with his father.” 

“God gave you both children. You and the law 
have taken one away.” 

“Hush! for God’s sake. It’s true, but I won’t 
listen.” 

“You must listen. You can’t get away from it. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


195 


It’s like love. Once it takes hold of you, you are 
blind. You can’t fight against it. This other kind 
of love — the mother love — is just as strong — even 
if it is different. I know what I’m talking about.” 

“You do indeed, but many things are true, and 
just because they are part of the obvious things 
of life, we don’t stop to think of or even consider 
them.” 

“Things one is accustomed to — people more 
than things — still have variety — ” 

“Yes, that’s true too, but if it weren’t for Druce, 
I couldn’t endure many things I am forced to ac- 
cept. Men are different from women. You under- 
stand. They are more brutal. They love and for- 
get. We love and — do not forget. We remember 
— all the time.” 

“I am so glad you are speaking out your heart 
to me. It makes me know that you consider me a 
real friend. It does lots of good to unburden one’s 
self.” 

“It does, it has, but — I am ashamed of myself. 
It’s only my first visit, and I have been talking to 
you as if I had known you all my life.” 

“That’s a great compliment, but — won’t you have 
some tea? I’m forgetting my duties of hostess — ” 

“No, I thank you, and I must really go. I have 
one or two calls to make. I am only beginning to 


196 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


take up my social life again. I have been dreaming 
all these weeks, and I had forgotten all the other 
things that hurt — that I know must be faced sooner 
or later.” 

“Yes, and where are you bound now?” 

“I’m going to see whether I shall find Miss 
Jessica Hargreaves at home. ,, 

“I do hope you will, for she’s a character. She’ll 
rake you over the coals. But you mustn’t mind, for 
she’s an old fraud, good heart and all that, but she 
is as gay as they make them, even out here. Drinks 
like a toper, and talks morality like a parson, but 
she’s not really insincere. It’s just her way, and 
you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” 

“Indeed you can’t. Well, good-bye. Do come 
and see me soon. We have the Carson house, you 
know.” 

“Yes, I know. This is a small place. Everybody 
knows everything about one’s neighbors. There’s 
no concealment, but we have a good time just the 
same. I’ll put your names up at the club. I’d al- 
most forgotten. There’s no use in saying you don’t 
care to see anyone. If you don’t now, you will 
later. And if you don’t — your husband will. Don’t 
make the mistake of thinking that you are going to 
hold him in your arms all the time.” 

“Oh, I don’t think that.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


197 


“The club is our meeting place. We offer all the 
usual attractions and pleasures of modern times, and 
you can pick and choose — or leave them all alone, as 
you wish. It is liberty hall, as far as that goes.” 

Nora left with regret, for she had taken a gen- 
uine liking to Mrs. Ashton. Miss Hargreaves she 
did not meet until later, but she found her event- 
ually as amusing and more so than had been pre- 
dicted. 

On the verandah, when she got home, she found 
Druce waiting for her. 

“Where have you been ?” she asked. 

“At the club with Jim Ashton. He gave me some 
letters to people in San Francisco — architects. I’ll 
have to get to work soon. I’ve been playing truant 
fiom school too long.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that Mr. Ashton was a 
friend of yours?” she asked suddenly. 

He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 

Nora did not speak for a second. How annoy- 
ing men could be ! Then, she thought, how foolish 
she was! 

“When are you going to San Francisco?” 

“I don’t know — I’m only thinking of it.” 

Druce contentedly blew rings of smoke from his 
pipe. The impalpable circles floated off, and he 
watched them lazily. 


198 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Nora saw that he was happy, and that he did not 
have a single care in the world. 

“Work can wait,” he said with a yawn; “I’m in 
no hurry !” 

And the wife, with a quick change of mood, 
smiled, but her smile was more mysterious than ever. 


VI 


DRUCE THINKS ABOUT WORK 

A week later McAllister left for San Francisco. 
His idea was to look the ground over, and present 
the letters Ashton had given him. They were ad- 
dressed to one of the leading firms of architects, 
George & Prince. 

Nora, during his absence, took the opportunity 
of trying to teach her daughter. She found the 
child not only deficient, but in some cases absolutely 
ignorant. After a day or two, she provided her- 
self with graded text-books, and the lessons pro- 
ceeded with more or less routine. The child, too, 
came to her room in the morning while she was 
having her breakfast, and was allowed to play as 
she wished. In the evening, after the little girl’s 
supper, another visit was made, which the mother 
vainly called a cosy time. Then, she read to the 
child, or instructed her in simple kindergarten 
games, so that she might be kept quiet until her bed- 
time. 

Up to the present time, Wanda had been allowed 


200 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


to run wild, and grow up like a plant. One ad- 
vantage of this system had been to make the little 
girl as strong as an ox. She had not a nerve in her 
body, and she slept like a top the moment her head 
touched the pillow. She was afraid of nothing, 
and ate what was put before her. Her food, how- 
ever, was of the simplest, for to do Janet justice, 
she had the old-fashioned idea of bringing up a 
child. Of course, having no educaton, she had 
never considered that branch, and so it was that 
Nora found there was a great deal, things that were 
purely elementary, of which Wanda was not aware. 
She had a fine mind, though, and her mother was 
wise enough not to force her by filling it too full 
of details; she gave her small doses at a time, and 
let the knowledge she sought to impart sink in, 
before she went on to the next bit. 

If the child became dreamy and absorbed, she in- 
stituted a game to illustrate her point, and if that 
would not overcome the abstraction, the lessons 
were stopped for the day. It was unwise to try to 
burden a virgin mind by too much knowledge at 
once. 

It will be seen that Nora was showing consider- 
able ability in her system of teaching. She wished 
to discover her tastes, her weaknesses, her strength, 
and to find out how she could draw her out. She 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


201 


was educating her daughter, but she was also teach- 
ing her how to love her mother. 

The difference between right and wrong, the 
difference between justice and injustice she could not 
teach her, because she herself did not have a very 
clearly defined idea of these. 

Nora was not fundamentally bad. Nobody is. 
As a graduate from a convent, she was strictly 
drilled in what was absolutely right, but when she 
came into the world of real men and women, it was 
of no use to her, because she had not been taught 
what was wrong. Therefore, she did not balance, 
because she had no judgment to use. She knew 
well the light, but she was totally ignorant of the 
prism-colored life of the world, and if one does not 
know the law of cause and effect, one cannot part 
the curtains for judgment, when the critical mo- 
ment arrives. 

Poor Nora only knew that certain things must 
be avoided, and that others made no appreciable 
change in the general scheme of things. 

In this way she had put together a code of her 
own, though she was totally unconscious of its 
existence. With the education of her child, the best 
part of the woman came to the surface, but she 
was not aware of this. She worked over Wanda, 
much as she labored over some complicated situa- 


202 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


tion in a book. And she worked with the same en- 
thusiasm and zest that she put into her literary 
work, and so the time passed. 

Druce sent a telegram every day. Sometimes, 
he announced that he was returning the next day, 
but when the time came, he sent another message 
to say that he was detained. Nora was not wor- 
ried. She supposed he was detained by business, 
which took longer than he expected. Work could 
not be picked up. Luck did not lurk in every 
corner. Out of a small beginning, great things 
might come. She must wait. She must not be im- 
patient. It would be selfish of her to send for him. 
She must wait without a murmur until he returned. 

Over a week had passed since her husband had 
gone away. To be sure she got a message from 
him every day, but she missed him dreadfully. His 
prolonged absence worried her at last. She tried 
to argue with herself, that all was right, but the 
loneliness which she dismissed by sheer strength of 
will, returned with full force when she could fight 
no more. 

When she had sunk to the lowest depths, when 
she imagined herself ill with longing, back came 
Druce, just as unexpectedly as he had gone. 

“Druce! You don’t know how I have missed 
you!” she cried. “You must never leave me again. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


203 


Oh ! I have been so homesick for you. I did not 
realize how much until I have you back again. Did 
you miss me as much ?” 

“I missed you of course, but I was frightfully 
busy. I did not have much time to think. I had 
an exceedingly interesting time.” 

She looked up at him with a swift glance. She 
instinctively felt his thoughts were not entirely of 
her during his absence. She was a jealous woman 
and she wondered why. 

“What is it, dear? Why do you not go on?” 

“It’s only that if I could get a position in San 
Francisco, would you wish to come too?” 

“Don’t you wish me to?” she asked in some 
surprise. 

“It’s not that, but, we have our home here, and 
it seems a pity to break it up just when you are 
no more than fairly settled!” 

Again, there was something she could not fathom 
in his tone. What was it? She could not tell. 
She must find out. It was unbearable, this feeling 
of uncertainty, this strange restlessness. Was he 
trying to conceal something from her ? Could that 
be it, or was there something he feared to say? It 
must be one or the other. 

“You are not open with me — ” she cried, at last, 
and her husband looking keenly at her, started, for 


204 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


she had read his thoughts. It was the first time 
he had not given her his absolute confidence. 

“You are not telling me all — there is something 
you are keeping back ! It is not fair to do this. I 
am your wife, and you should keep nothing from 
me. If it is something I can do to help — ” 

“You can, if you only would!” he blurted out. 

“Tell me how I can help you, dear!” 

“Well, why shouldn’t I tell you? If I hesitate any 
longer, you will think it is something of which I am 
ashamed. It is nothing of the sort. There is an ob- 
stacle to my taking a position with George & Prince. 
I can’t deny it. They will take me in, if — if — ” 

“If what, dear? Don’t be afraid to tell me!” 

“I haven’t enough money to do it — that’s the 
reason !” 

“Poor dear ! Is that all ? Come, how much must 
you put up to become a member of their firm, for 
that is what I suppose they are offering you?” 

“Ten thousand dollars, and where on earth I am 
going to raise that amount, God only knows!” 

It was a large amount. They were not rich. 
They could live comfortably, but a drain like this 
would come hard. However, it must be done, and 
she must give it to him. There was no other way. 
She had a nest egg. She had intended to use it 
for another purpose, the nucleus of a fortune, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


205 


which should be for them both. She had intended 
it as a surprise for Druce. She must abandon the 
idea. He should do what she had hoped to do, 
that was all, but she was disappointed. Yet it 
could not be helped. 

“I shall give you the money. ,, And she wondered 
why her voice sounded strange in her own ears. 

“Why do you speak in that formal way? I am 
not asking you for money, am I?” 

“No, of course not!” She was ashamed of a 
sudden suspicion she had had. She fancied that he 
was deceiving her. How absurdly jealous she was! 
She looked at him, as if begging for forgiveness. 
Suddenly it occurred to her that he was not aware 
of her fault. For one hideous moment, she imag- 
ined he had been unfaithful to her! 

“What is the matter?” he asked, noticing the 
change in her manner, and wondering whether he 
had offended her. 

“Nothing,” she answered, completely sobered. 
“I’ll get the money for you now. You’ll have 
time to send it off by this afternoon’s mail?” 

“But — wait, if I accept this position, it will mean 
separation for a time, until I can find a home for 
you.” 

“Only for a time. I can wait.” 

And she hurried from him into the house. 


VII 


NORA REVIEWS THE SITUATION 

Druce had been unfaithful to her! The hateful 
words throbbed over and over again in her brain. 
She loathed herself for her unjust suspicion, for 
in her heart she knew this mute accusation was not 
true. If she could only rid her mind of it! She 
had not the slightest reason for supposing that her 
husband had been unduly intimate with another 
woman while away from her. The idea, however, 
refused to be dislodged, for it had seized her against 
her better judgment, her will. What had started 
this odious thought? She could not tell. It might 
have been intuition! No, not that, for a woman's 
intuition was rarely at fault. 

Several times during the night she awoke, her 
mind again active. She dozed and forgot, only to 
wake with a start, and remember all the more viv- 
idly. It was terrible. The moon rose late, and in 
the faint silver light that drifted in, she saw the 
face of her husband fitfully illuminated. 

She studied it feverishly. Her eye caught and 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


207 


held every passing change. Surely it must be the 
light, which gave his mouth that oddly changed 
look! Mobile it was, but not weak, as it appeared 
now. 

Nora remained motionless. He had moved 
slightly, and was murmuring something. She tried 
to catch its meaning, but she could not. She sighed 
gently, for he had smiled. Surely he would not 
smile, if everything was not right. He could not. 
As the smile still lingered, she recognized in him 
the likeness of the man as he had been when she 
first met him. His mocking expression slightly 
changed. It must be that his love for her lived 
behind that characteristic expression. It had been 
so in the old days. He had admitted it then. It 
must be true still. It could not have taken such a 
short time for him to change ! 

He would be incapable of actually deceiving her. 
She remembered the vows he had made to love her 
always, to be true, to keep himself for her, forever ! 

She closed her eyes wearily. She could fight no 
more. The decree of fate must take its course. 
When next she opened her eyes, the grey light of 
early dawn was filtering in. Softly she rose, and 
peeped out. The first rosy rays of the sun were 
beginning to shine aslant through the trees. As 
she looked, the sun came up in all its glory, and 


208 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


the new day was born. On the lawn the shadow 
of lace fell shimmering through the sun-kissed 
branches. 

With a sigh she turned back into the room. The 
brightness of day had come. 

Did it mean that doubt had fled with the dark- 
ness? That hope was reborn with the day? Softly 
on tiptoe, she stole back to the side of the bed. The 
weak look had gone. Ah ! It was the face of the 
man she loved. All at once, she knew that every- 
thing was unchanged between them! She believed 
in him absolutely, and she put her foolish thoughts 
away from her forever. 

In the days that followed, she tried to do this, 
but at the same time her eyes were open for the 
slightest change in him, as far as it affected her. 
At times, she thought him a shade less affectionate 
than usual. So she wavered between hope and fear. 

She did not dare to ask him when he again in- 
tended making another visit to San Francisco, for 
she feared to show him any feeling which would 
tend to disquiet, or to unsettle any plans he may 
have contemplated. 

Another inevitable change took place gradually. 
Druce sought the society of his own sex more and 
more. He went to the club a good deal, but he 
drank moderately. He was unlike most men of his 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


209 


set in this respect. Nevertheless, Nora suspected 
that he drank much more than was good for him, 
although she never openly accused him of this. 

If he were irritable, still she must endure. Then, 
just as unexpectedly she knew that she must not 
give way to imagination. That would be unjust. 
She must explain things by natural reasons. It 
was the only way if she expected to be happy, and 
to remain so. 

If she had stopped to consider, she would have 
realized that all women go through these self-ex- 
aminations, these doubts, and laugh at them, when 
they come to see their utter futility. 

She thought at times she detected other changes 
in Druce, but they were so subtle, so intangible, 
that she could not be certain. He was as affection- 
ate as ever, but, in some incomprehensible way, he 
seemed to be absorbed. He was turning over some- 
thing in his mind. What was it? It was impos- 
sible for her to answer this vexing question. In- 
deed, there did not seem to be any answer at hand. 

Then she took a new view-point. What if Druce 
had not changed? What if it were she herself who 
had changed? It might be interesting to watch 
herself, and so put this idea to the test. 

Druce went to the club a good deal. Sometimes 
he lunched there. Often he did not tell her his 


210 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


plans. Could he be neglecting her? No, not ex- 
actly that, but they were less together than at the 
beginning of their married life. This was not un- 
natural. She could not expect to have her husband 
always at her side. He had other interests, other 
pursuits. She was making a mountain out of a 
mole-hill. 

She noticed his comings and goings as part of 
the routine. She had fought her battle with self, 
and had gained, as she supposed, the victory. Her 
husband had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. 
He went about his business as any man would, but 
he was more absorbed than at first. He must 
have something on his mind. He was growing 
more and more interested in architecture. He had 
had his vacation, and he returned to his work with 
renewed vigor. He was being drawn back, as a 
magnet draws steel, and even if he could have re- 
sisted, he would not, for he loved his profession. 

Nora noticed that he was drawing on odd sheets 
of paper, but that when she came, he destroyed the 
sheets and put the crumpled sheets in his pockets. 
He denied that he was doing anything worth men- 
tioning. There was nothing to show. 

Nora was not surprised. She accepted this 
without question. It was like this in her literary 
work. She hated to read to anyone what she was 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


211 


writing, until she had actually finished it. The time 
would come when he would tell her all. He had 
always given her confidence for confidence. Per- 
haps he was withholding a pleasant surprise! 

As far as she and Wanda were concerned, the 
child accepted her mother, because Janet told her 
she must do so, and she always obeyed Janet with- 
out question. It was part of the excellent system 
of 'the old nurse. She did what her mother asked 
her, but she did it as a duty, though she did not 
complain. She knew that after the hour or two 
were over, she could go back to Janet or to her 
toys. Her mother had unpacked the toys, but both 
women had neglected to tell the child, and so the 
mother’s plan of making that a means of winning 
her fell rather flat. For the moment, the mother was 
occupied in the study of her husband, so the child, 
outside of lessons and the time she spent with her 
mother as a regular thing, ran wild again, and en- 
joyed herself to the full. 

One afternoon, Nora came in from a walk with 
Wanda, and found Druce sketching an angle of 
the house. He was absorbed, and did not seem 
aware of her presence. Suddenly he looked up. He 
showed his annoyance clearly, without attempting 
to conceal it. 

“What are you doing?” asked his wife. 


212 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Picking daisies!” he answered, after a pause, 
and then resumed his work, with lips compressed. 
He determined not to be interrupted. He was in 
his happiest mood for composition. It was like a 
thread. If it broke, it might be lost forever. 

Nora stepped back for a moment. Druce still 
worked on. Her hand unconsciously dropped 
Wanda’s. The child walked away, and spying 
Janet, ran to her. Her mother did not notice her 
absence. 

Druce gave a sigh of satisfaction. He had fin- 
ished what he was doing. Nora waited, but he 
said nothing. Then she turned away. 

“Where are you going?” asked he. 

“Only to my room,” was the quiet answer. “I 
must take off my hat — it is so heavy.” 

He whistled softly, and looked back at his draw- 
ing. He was unconscious of any omission, but she 
was aware that it was the first time he had not 
kissed her when she returned home. It was a small 
incident, but she remembered, though he had for- 
gotten. As she removed her hat, she realized that 
she had been tactless to interrupt him. She made 
haste to return and explain the matter to him, but 
when she came out on the verandah, he was gone. 
Later on she did not refer to the matter. It was 
not the moment, and besides, it made it too im- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


213 


portant. It was not so serious as that. She did, 
however, look reproachfully at him, but he, misun- 
derstanding her meaning, took her in his arms. 
How blind men were ! With all his faults, he was 
her ideal, and she loved him. That made up for 
all that had gone before, for love had blinded her 
for the moment. She was happy. She lived again. 
That evening she kissed Wanda good-night very 
tenderly. 

“What is the matter, mother ?” asked the child 
wonderingly. “You are hurting me. Please, let 
me go!” 

“I am so happy, dear — ” she murmured. 

“Why — is daddy coming?” 

The child sat bolt upright, but the mother said 
nothing. 

“Tell me when he is coming! Of course, I like 
Mr. Druce, but — he’s not my daddy — ” 

“No!” responded Nora curtly, “he’s not.” And, 
turning away, she left the room. 

“How contradictory her mother was! Who 
could Mr. Druce be ?” wondered the little girl. 


VIII 


A TINY RIPPLE 

Nora realized when it was too late that she had 
made a fatal error in betraying her feelings to 
her child. It is impossible to deceive so young a 
mind, and that is just what she attempted to do. 
What must Wanda have thought of her ? She had 
paused on the stairs, and debated with herself 
whether to return to the room, and attempt an ex- 
planation. She had finally decided not to do so, and 
was glad now that she had not, for it might have 
made matters worse. To-morrow she would act 
as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. 
It was likely that the little girl had attached no un- 
due importance to her mother’s strange manner; 
perhaps she had not even noticed it. Really, she 
was becoming extraordinarily sensitive and imagin- 
ative ! 

That evening Druce did not come home to din- 
ner. He did, however, telephone from the club 
that he was dining there, and hoped Nora would 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


215 


not mind. She replied indifferently, though her 
heart was beating fast as she spoke, and after a 
few explanatory speeches on the part of Druce, 
she abruptly hung up the receiver. 

After dinner, she decided to stroll over to the 
country club, which was not far. She had no plans 
when she started, and half-way there she stopped 
and thought over a number of excuses she might 
make to explain her presence there alone, for she 
had never gone to the club in the evening, unless 
accompanied by her husband, or else when she had 
been invited to dine with some ladies and play 
bridge afterwards. What could she say, if any- 
body asked her. what she was doing in such a 
semi-public place alone in the evening ? What pos- 
sible excuse could she make? 

Nora was in a slightly exalted state of mind, and 
this made her think it necessary to offer the most 
careful explanations. She did not wish to be put 
in a wrong light, nor did she wish anyone to think 
she could be placed in such a position. She was a 
little perturbed when the saw the lights of the 
club-house looming up before her. Why had she 
come? And what did she expect to gain by com- 
ing? Was it honorable for her to spy upon her 
husband? Ought she not rather to take his ab- 
sence as a matter of course? He had not been in 


2l6 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


the habit of staying away as a regular thing. Was 
she not acting as if she were actually deserted? It 
was really somewhat ridiculous, looking at it as 
she did in a calmer moment. 

Once, however, having come this far, she pushed 
on, believing that her courage was egging her on 
to do what she told herself was her duty. Duty! 
She was rather dramatic — unnecessarily so, and 
for what reason? 

She stepped on to the porch, and peered in at 
one of the windows. In the dining-room was a 
party of three ladies, Mrs. Ashton, Miss Har- 
greaves and Mrs. Dorian. Other people were din- 
ing there too, but she could not see her husband 
anywhere. Perhaps he was dining in the smaller 
room. 

What should she do? Go in and join the three 
ladies, or wait until they came out to have their 
coffee ? She decided to wait, but she could imagine 
their surprise when she should rise to greet them. 
What should she say? 

It was a bright moonlight night, and instinc- 
tively she chose a chair in shadow, so that she 
should not be too much in evidence. She did not 
wish to be at a disadvantage. She preferred to see 
the others before they caught sight of her. 

After a time, the three ladies rose, and came out. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


2iy 


Nora rose, and as she saw them coming, came for- 
ward. 

“Confess that you are surprised to see me!” she 
said, with an assumption of gayety. 

“I’m never surprised at anything,” began Ethel 
Ashton. 

“I suppose you were tired of being alone — ” 
came next from Miss Jessica Hargreaves. 

“Your husband is dining here. I saw him with 
that horrid Major Gray Hampton,” said Mrs. Dor- 
ian. “I wonder you let him associate with such 
queer characters. Surely you haven’t been mar- 
ried long enough to lose hold of him as easy as 
that.” 

“I am not responsible for his friends,” replied 
Nora trying not to speak stiffly. “A man often has 
lots of men friends, men he meets in business, and 
that sort of thing, whom his wife never knows. 
Why should she? It would bore them quite as 
much as it would her.” 

“More so, I’m sure,” suggested Miss Jessica 
tartly. 

“Oh, come!” broke in Ethel, scenting battle in 
the other’s tone; “don’t begin yet. Let’s have a 
few minutes’ peace and quiet before we go in to 
play cards.” 

“Why shouldn’t Mrs. McAllister make a fourth ?” 


2l8 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


exclaimed Emilie Dorian. “You play auction 
bridge, don’t you?” 

“Yes! To tell you the truth, I came over to see 
whether I could find a game. My husband is din- 
ing here, and I was lonely.” 

“I thought you would turn up,” said Ethel, “that 
is, when I saw your husband had made up his 
mind to dine here. It was the major who per- 
suaded him, though I have no doubt he told you he 
was dining with my husband. Major Hampton is 
an old friend of my husband’s — a friend of former 
days. They don’t see much of each other now. 
The major has gone down hill, but Jim is too hon- 
est to throw over his friends just because — ” 

“They are a bit shady, I suppose you were going 
to say,” said Miss Hargreaves maliciously. 

“Jim is a good friend,” said Mrs. Ashton, look- 
ing at Miss Hargreaves, though she was speaking 
generally. “I think you all know that by this time. 
He is the most unselfish and the dearest fellow in 
the world.” 

.“But he can put away more liquor than any man 
I know — ” laughed Miss Hargreaves admiringly. 
“I do like a man who is a good sport!” 

‘“Evidently!” remarked Mrs. Ashton dryly; “and 
Jim’s the right sort,” she said, for she was over 
loyal and devoted to her husband. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


219 


“I didn’t mean to say anything against him — ■ 
anything I would regret—” began Jessica. 

“Like the lady who did not wish to say anything 
against a certain other lady, and so said that she 
considered her a hog,” said Ethel with a laugh. 

“•Very much the same kind of thing!” admitted 
Miss Hargreaves, evidently seeing that she had 
been worsted. “And now,” she continued, “why 
shouldn’t we go in and start our game? I hate 
dawdling too long after dinner.” 

“I agree with you,” laughed Ethel, good-hum- 
oredly; “if we expect any one to have a shred of 
reputation left.” 

“Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?” said 
Jessica slyly. 

“I don’t have to!” was the sharp reply. 

“Ladies, ladies!” put in Emilie sharply, “do let’s 
go in. The cards will keep our minds busy — ” 

“Which may be more prudent in the end,” sug- 
gested Nora, laughing. 

The others laughed too, and shortly afterwards 
they rose and made their way into the card- 
room. 

In an incredibly short time, the game was in 
full swing, and Nora who played well, proved a 
welcome addition. In the years to come these four 
often played together. As is often the case, in the 


220 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


long run the winnings and losses offset each other, 
but the stakes ran high. 

When Nora was not actually playing, she thought 
about her husband. She wondered what he was 
doing. He had said he was playing cards after 
dinner, but the major had been described as a hard 
drinker. Druce was a good sport, like Jim Ashton, 
and she had her doubts as to what might happen. 

The habitual drunkard was a creature Nora 
loathed, because she did not understand a craving 
for liquor. She drank wine with her meals, and 
sometimes indulged in a cocktail before dinner, but 
beyond this slight indulgence, she took nothing. 
That a man should drink and be brutal to her, she 
had never considered, but now as she thought of 
the possibility the evening might have in store for 
her, she shuddered. This was a contingency she 
had never thought she would have to face. She 
was convinced that Druce was drinking heavily. 
She knew for a certainty that the dinner and card 
game were but an excuse for a debauch. And now 
this bad habit was going to wreck her life! It was 
a pity, but the situation would have to be faced. 
If it proved serious, still it would have to be en- 
dured, though her love for Druce would receive a 
serious shock. 

Nora was beginning to make herself miserable, 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


221 


and it was the game alone that saved her from 
going to pieces. The concentration which was 
necessary kept her from losing her head, and her 
pride prevented her from showing the other women 
the anxiety she was enduring. 

She won heavily, though she told herself with 
a smile, which she strove not to make a bitter one, 
that this was due to luck as much as play, for auc- 
tion was more of a gambling game than the or- 
dinary game of bridge whist. 

“Lucky at cards!” murmured Miss Jessica, bit- 
terly, for she hated to lose. 

“What do you mean?” asked Nora, trying to 
control her rising agitation. 

“Oh, I’m sure Miss Jessica means nothing per- 
sonal,” broke in Emilie hastily. “It’s only that she’s 
horribly superstitious — that’s really all.” 

Nora smiled nervously, and counted up her win- 
nings. Then she gave herself up to speculation as 
to what the old lady really meant by her speech. 

She remembered that Miss Hargreaves was bru- 
tally outspoken, but she could not have intended to 
be personal in this instance; it would have been 
too glaring an evidence of bad taste, and Miss Jes- 
sica was a lady. She might be sharp, but she could 
not be ill-bred. Doubtless her words had meant 
nothing more than their meaning actually conveyed. 


222 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


It would not be strange for Nora to overhear 
things said about her, for was not her history public 
property? She must expect some hard knocks. 
There were many narrow-minded people in the 
world, who would criticize her for what she had 
done, but these people were of the world; surely 
they must understand that she had done nothing 
wrong. 

The incident, however, had opened her eyes to 
possibilities. She believed she recognized the truth, 
at last. She had only Druce’s love to depend upon, 
and she must not lose that! 

She looked up, and saw that her husband was 
standing in the door-way. 

“They told me you were here,” he said, and Nora 
noticed that he was as sober as a judge. “I lost 
heavily.” 

After she had bidden them all good-night, Nora 
took his arm, and they went out on the verandah. 

“And — I won — large sums!” volunteered she, 
her voice trembling, for she felt the reaction of the 
long evening. 

“What is the matter — you are unnerved !” 

“Only that I’m tired — to death, but — I love you 
more than ever, — only — you must not leave me — 
I’m frightened — I think!” 

“Come! we’ll go home, little woman,” said 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


223 


he tenderly, for he thought she was only tired. 

“She wears herself out with her moods !” he 
thought to himself; “and women are the deuce 
when they’re doing that sort of thing. I wish she’d 
stop it — that’s all!” 


IX 


WANDA WRITES A LETTER 

One morning, Wanda and Janet were sitting in the 
garden, the child playing with her doll, the old 
nurse, knitting. 

The little one soon tired of her game, and let- 
ting the doll slip, she allowed her eyes to roam 
aimlessly about in search of some new interest. 
Apparently finding nothing out of the ordinary, she 
rose and strolled about. Filled to the brim with 
imagination, she stopped at bushes, pretending they 
were shops, and made purchases, or ordered a 
horse, upon which she careered about in a delight- 
fully realistic manner. During her game, she kept 
up a running conversation, which always had a 
distinct bearing on what she happened to be doing 
at the moment. Her mind was active, though, and 
she flitted from one thing to the other, but always 
enjoying herself, and believing as most children 
can, in the reality of it all. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


225 


After a time, the novelty wore off, and she re- 
turned and sat by her nurse, watching her knit 
with grave, interested look, but her mind was not 
in the present. 

“When is daddy coming ?” she asked abruptly. 

“I don’t know, dearie !” said Janet, without look- 
ing up. 

The old woman began to croon a lullaby, but 
watched Wanda, who was now looking away, her 
brows frowning in perplexity. Presently the child 
wheeled about suddenly, and looked sharply at 
her nurse. 

“I don’t believe he’s coming here at all. Then, 
where are we to meet him?” she inquired. 

Janet, with a sigh, felt that she could not any 
longer resist the appeal she read in the wistful, 
young eyes fixed upon hers. She had parried direct 
thrusts like this before, but now she knew that she 
must tell the truth. 

“I don’t believe he’s coming here — ” she ven- 
tured, pushing the stitches thoughtfully along the 
needle, but not looking in the little girl’s direction. 

“Then where is he going to meet us?” repeated 
the child calmly. “You might tell me that, for 
I’m growing up, at least my mother says so, and 
she ought to now, for she was a little girl just 
like me once, you know — ” 


226 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Listen, Miss Wanda! Your daddy isn’t com- 
ing here, and that’s the truth ; I don’t think we are 
a-going to see him — for some time.” 

“I see!” said the child, for she had complete 
confidence in her nurse; “then, I expect I’d better 
write to him.” 

“That would be nice, I am sure,” exclaimed 
Janet, “and I’ll tell you what to say.” 

“I know what to say, but you’ll have to help me 
write it. I’m only just learning, you know.” 

“Perhaps, I’d best write it for you, until you 
learn. How would that do?’’ 

“Yes, that would be a good way!” answered the 
child, after a moment’s thought. “Now t take a 
pencil and begin.” 

The old woman did as she was bid, and began to 
write. 

“What are you writing?” asked Wanda suspi- 
ciously. “I haven’t told you anything yet.” 

“I was only putting down the address on the 
envelope.” 

“Well — put ‘Dear Daddy.’ Have you got that? 
Very well. Now, listen, for I’ve got lots to say.” 

The child rested her chin on her palms, and 
pressed her lips together for a minute, then she 
began to speak, slowly at first, and then more 
quickly. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


227 


“Not so fast, little girl! My old fingers won’t 
go as quickly as that.” 

“I forgot that you were writing. I thought I 
was just talking to my dear daddy. He’s always 
with me — in my heart, you know,” added the child 
earnestly. 

“And I hope he always will be! But go on! 
You said you had so much to say.” 

“And I have. 'I love you, and I’m always think- 
ing of you. I wish you were here. If you come, 
be sure to let me know. Now, don’t forget, be- 
cause that’s very important.’ It is important, isn’t 
it, Janet?” 

“Oh, yes, you couldn’t leave that out. What 
next ?” 

“Mother has a friend here — he's — ” 

“I wouldn’t say that — ” 

“Why not? He is a friend, and I thought you 
were just going to write down what I wanted!” 
exclaimed the little girl. 

“I only thought — ” quibbled the nurse, but the 
child interrupted her gravely. 

“Don’t think, then — it’s a bad habit. Mother 
says so! Now go on! ‘He’s not you, and I love 
you, but he’s nice, and I like him, though he doesn’t 
play as well as you do. What lovely games you 
and Eliot and I used to have, didn’t we?’ ” 


228 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“That’ll make him happy to remember the old 
days!” murmured the old woman, sighing gently. 

“Yes, it ought to, because we were so happy 
then.” 

“Aren’t you happy now, Miss Wanda?” asked 
Janet anxiously. 

“Oh, yes, I suppose I am, but I was so very 
happy in the old days. It isn’t the same now, but 
I suppose it’s because I’m older. I don’t think 
those old games would seem the same now as they 
did. I’m different, and everything’s changed.” 

“In what way, dear? You’ve got a lovely home, 
your toys — good things to eat — ” 

“I had all that before, but I don’t feel as if this 
place was home, not like the other — that is. I 
miss home, and I wish we could go back there. 
Tell daddy that! Yes, you must. Everything I 
say must be put down just as I say it — otherwise 
you’re not doing what you said you’d do.” 

“I got it down. Is that all?” 

“No, tell him there are things I can’t understand, 
but I’m thinking them out. When I’ve decided 
what they do mean. I’ll write him about them.” 

“What are some of the things that puzzle you? 
Perhaps I could help you.” 

“I think you could. Well — one of the things 
that bother me is, what Mr. Druce is doing here?” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


229 


“He’s taking care of your mother. You had 
better call him 'father.’ ” 

“Father and daddy are the same thing. I 
couldn’t call him daddy — because my own daddy 
wouldn’t like it, I’m sure. Is mother ill?” 

“No, why do you say that?” 

“Because you said that man was taking care of 
her. People don’t need taking care of, unless 
they’re sick.” 

“No, he’s taking your daddy’s place — ” 

“Why should he? How could he? She couldn’t 
be married to him, if that’s what you mean — not 
until my daddy dies. Don’t talk nonsense, Janet! 
Sometimes, I think you are very silly — you say 
such silly things.” 

“Don’t say that, Miss Wanda, dear. It isn’t 
nice — ” admonished the old woman reprovingly. 

“Still it’s true!” mused the child. 

“Everything that’s true isn’t always nice — ” 

“No!” answered the child, “but let’s go on! 
Listen !” 

The letter was finished at last, and Wanda begged 
Janet to read it to her, and not to leave things out. 

“It’s a way you have — leaving out things!” and 
the child listened attentively while the nurse read 
what had been dictated. At times, she nodded her 
head approvingly, at others, she touched the old 


230 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


woman on the arm, and bit her lip as she strove 
to decide whether it sounded all right or not. 

“Things sound different when they’re written 
down — I’ve noticed that when mother gives me 
dictation exercises. Yes, I think that’s all right. 
It sounds right, and it is right.” 

“Then I’ll address it, and send it off. Shall I ?” 
asked Janet, smiling. 

“Yes. I wonder when he’ll write to me. He’ll 
have to answer it, won’t he ? People always answer 
letters, don’t they ? I heard mother and — Mr. 
Druce — he isn’t my father, so you needn’t frown 
like that — discussing that the other day. Perhaps, if 
he sees it’s your writing, he won’t want to read it. 
He’ll just say, ‘oh, it’s only a letter from Janet!’ 
and tear it up. I hope he won’t do that. I think 
he’ll soon see it’s really from me, and you did say 
I was learning to write, and that I was going to 
write just as soon as I learnt more about it.” 

“I wrote just what you told me to — ” 

“I thought you would, for I think you’re just 
a little bit afraid of me, now aren’t you, you dear 
old Janet?” asked the child putting her arms around 
the nurse’s neck and hugging her. 

“Yes! Indeed, I am, particularly when you try 
to choke me like that.” 

“You don’t suppose I’m really trying to choke 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


23 1 


you, do you? Why, if I really wanted to — I could 
do it as easy as — easy.” 

“Don’t really try then,” and Janet gently released 
the little hands. “Come dear, we must go in, it’s 
time to get ready for lunch.” 

“Bother lunch — I was having such a good time. 
It’s always the way, now. Just when I’m having 
a good time, some one says that it’s time to do 
something else. I’m tired of having to do other 
things.” 

“You’re getting older, you see.” 

“I don’t know why it’s so much easier to talk 
to you than it is to my mother. She never seems 
to understand, but you always do. I wonder why 
it is.” 

“You’ve been with me a good deal, and your 
mother had her writing to do. It’s a pity — ” 

“What’s a pity, Janet? Why don’t you go 
on ?” 

“It’s a pity — ” repeated she confusedly, “that 
she — couldn’t have put you — in one of her books. 
It would have brought you closer together like,” 
she concluded lamely. 

“Would it have made me know her any better?” 
inquired Wanda wonderingly. 

“Yes, dear, it would, but, child, I’m only your 
nurse, and she’s your mother. You must love her, 


232 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


and when I’m gone, you can help your mother 
to be — to be — ” 

“To be what? How strange you are to-day !” 

“To be happy, but — I don’t mean that — exactly, 
but to make her happiness complete.” 

“That would be very hard to do, because, you 
see, you’re more like my real mother, and she’s — 
just — pretend.” 

“You must never tell her that. You must try to 
love her, as much as you do me. She wants you 
to love her — ” 

“Well, I’ll do it if I can, but it’s going to be 
terribly hard, that’s what I think.” 

Janet looked at the child standing there twisting 
her hands together, and sighed. What an unfor- 
tunate thing it was that such an attractive little girl 
should be separated from the poor mother who 
craved her love! What was in the child’s mind? 
She was thinking deeply, but Janet of old had 
learned that though Wanda was honest as the sea, 
as the saying goes, and would never tell an untruth, 
she kept shut up in her head a lot of things, and 
could never be induced to speak of them. 

Wanda gathered up her toys, and followed her 
nurse slowly into the house. 

But the active mind was at work with its prob- 
lem, its questionings, in which her father, her 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


233 


mother and Mr. Druce were all mixed up in a hope- 
less jumble. 

If her mother was ill, why didn’t she see a 
doctor? Was Mr. Druce a doctor? If so, that 
would explain a great many things, but not why 
he was here all the time. Doctors came and went, 
when people were sick, and her mother did not 
seem really sick. Perhaps she was worrying about 
something! It was all very confusing. 

Why didn’t her daddy come out here too, it 
would make things so pleasant, and more like the 
dear old days. She was always hoping he might 
come. She was expecting to find him waiting for 
her when she came in! She was not exactly dis- 
appointed when she found he was not there, for 
she was philosophical, and perhaps it would be to- 
morrow! She felt that some day he would come, 
and she was happy in the thought, and content to 
wait in patience for this great event, which she 
accepted as certain in her own mind. Perhaps he 
will come to-day ! It would be so nice if he did ! 

And the child happy in her dreaming, smiled 
contentedly, and ran upstairs, calling out merrily 
to Janet to catch her if she could. 


X 


she’s only a child 

“Mother let’s have a little talk. I don’t want to 
read this book any longer!” 

Nora was polishing her nails, while the little 
girl had picked up a novel with which to amuse her- 
self. The child had been spelling the words out, 
but as there were no pictures, and the subject- 
matter was beyond her comprehension, her interest 
had palled before very long. 

“What do you wish to talk about, dear?” 

“Oh, lots of things,” answered the child. “Things 
I usually talk to Janet about. She says she is only 
my nurse — I’d almost forgotten she wasn’t my 
mother — I’ve been with her so much, you see, but 
now, I’ve decided to make you my real mother, 
which you are, and not pretend, as I’ve sometimes 
imagined. I’m going to try to love you just the 
same as I do Janet, more if I can, but you mustn’t 
expect too much just at first, because, it’s as if 
I had to learn to love you, you see. Not like a 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


235 


lesson, but — something of the same sort, as the 
saying is!” 

“Don’t use that expression, my child — it’s like 
a servant!” 

“What’s the matter with servants? If Janet is 
a servant, I’d like to be one, for she’s always kind 
to me, and shows how much she loves me.” 

“That may be true!” admitted the mother un- 
wisely; “but you’ve had no discipline — you’ve 
grown up like a little savage — and now you’re older, 
you must be taught how to behave yourself.” 

“I’ve been very happy — ” 

“Yes, of course, Janet has been very good to you, 
but — she’s an ignorant person, kind — still not the 
best influence to develop — ” 

For the moment, Nora did not realize that she 
was talking to a child. 

“Mother intends to take care of you now. She 
will teach you many things — ” 

“Teach! That means lessons! I hate lessons — 
the name ‘lessons’ is enough to make you tired.” 

“Don’t make faces, dear. It isn’t nice!” 

“I’m sorry. I forgot. I won’t do it again !” 

“That’s right. I thought you would be reason- 
able. What shall we talk about?” 

“I wanted to ask you some questions — ” 

“Yes — what are they ? Go on ! Don’t be afraid !” 


236 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Oh, I’m not afraid,” responded the child, as 
if surprised. “I’m never afraid of people who love 
me, and you said — ” 

“Yes, dear, I do love you. I wish I could tell 
you — ” 

“But you don’t know how to say it? Is that 
it? Do you know that’s just the way with me, 
mother. It’s very curious. Let’s try to understand 
what each of us is like — you and me — it’ll be like 
a game, and we can see who’ll win first.” 

“If one wins, the other loses — ” 

“Of course, but you know what I mean. Mother, 
don’t be so exact.” 

“That’s not a fault, and, my dear — I don’t al- 
ways wish to be correcting you — ” 

“My goodie gracious! I hope not — that would 
be very tiresome — ” 

Nora thought it best not to reprove, so she caught 
her up in her arms, instead, kissing her hungrily. 

“Nothing must be tiresome between us, my 
child.” 

“No, not if we are going to make a success of 
this love business.” 

“I see what you mean !” And the mother looked 
wistfully at the child, the tears were very close be- 
hind the smile she gave her. 

The child looked curiously at her. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


237 


“Don’t make such a business of it — that’ll take 
all the fun out of the game.” 

“So you look on it as a game, do you?” 

“Yes, it makes it so much more exciting!” 

“Hardly a game!” murmured Nora, half to her- 
self, and then: “What did you want to tell me — 
I mean to ask me, dear ?” 

“I’ve wanted to ask for a long time — when are 
we going to meet daddy?” 

Nora stared at the child in complete consterna- 
tion. How was she to answer such a question? 
Could she tell her the truth? No, it would break 
her heart, for, with the exception of a visit now 
and again, she would never see her father again, 
and never in the same old way. When they did 
meet, as meet they must, according to the terms of 
the divorce, the child would ask the same questions 
which had puzzled the mother, and how could they 
be answered save by telling the whole, miserable 
truth? As years passed, the child would under- 
stand. She would hear it from others. That would 
be the easiest way. It would be too terrible to 
have to say such things in cold blood. She had not 
the courage to tell her child the truth. What was 
the truth? Even that she could not bring herself 
to face. Why not? Because it was wrong? No, 
because it was over and done with. For no other 


2 3 8 THE WIFE DECIDES 


reason. This she reiterated to herself with unneces- 
sary vehemence, and looked straight before her. 

‘T don’t know, dear — nothing has been arranged.” 

She had feared Wanda would read the truth, 
which lay hidden by the shadow of the falsehood, 
for she was deliberately deceiving the child, a little 
trusting creature, and why? Because she was also 
the child of a man she had thrust out of her own 
life forever. Why did the little one’s eyes fixed 
upon hers seem to be looking into her heart, and 
reading there what she felt she must conceal. The 
time had not come when the child should know all. 
She, her mother, was keeping back from her what 
it would pain the child to know now. She wished 
to spare her anything that might make her unhappy. 

To explain the matter of the divorce required 
diplomacy. Then too, the shock of such knowl- 
edge would be terrible to one who was too young 
to understand. It might be dangerous. It might 
injure the child’s development. 

Thus did Nora try to justify herself. Under the 
guise of sparing her child, she was in reality spar- 
ing herself. She was trying to create for herself 
a paradise. There were ugly things existent, but 
she shut her eyes to them. 

“Why is Mr. Druce here all the time?” queried 
Wanda, looking hard at her mother. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


239 


This time, Nora did not look away. It would 
be cowardly. She knew she must hold the child 
by the strength of her will. She must not lose 
ground, she must not let her stray away from her 
influence. If she did, she would never regain the 
lost vantage point. She held her breath, and looked 
at the child through half-closed lids. What was 
she to say? 

“He is living here. It is his home and mine. 
Why do you ask such questions?” 

“Janet said that he was taking care of you. Are 
you sick?” 

“No, I am not. Janet — doesn’t — understand.” 

“She always tells the truth — ” 

“Oh, yes, I know that, but in this case she has 
unwittingly misled you.” 

“I don’t understand how she could do such a 
thing. It is not like her. Mother, how could 
she tell me what was not true ? I cannot believe it !” 

“She did not know she was misleading you, I 
say.” 

Nora’s tone was a trifle harsh. She wished she 
were alone. The child was becoming unbearable. 
And there were ten minutes more before she would 
go to bed ! 

“Why is daddy not here? That’s what I can’t 
understand.” 


240 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“You must not bother your head about these 
questions. You will make yourself ill. Forget 
them! Take another book, or shall I tell you a 
story?” 

“Yes, do, mother. You tell such lovely stories. 
That’s the best thing about you. I love you when 
you tell stories. You look beautiful then, and I 
love beautiful things. Go ahead, and tell the biggest 
whopper you know.” 

Nora could not help smiling, though she tried 
to frown her displeasure first. She studied the child 
for a moment. The eyes that looked into hers were 
wide open. There was no hidden thought there. 
They were straightforward and direct. The child 
meant what she said, but she did not know that 
she was hurting her mother. No, she could not 
intentionally have done such a thing, for she con- 
fessed that she loved her mother because she was 
beautiful. It was not the sort of love she longed 
to possess, but it was a beginning. 

“But first, do tell me why daddy is not here.” 

“He’s away — with your brother.” And, Nora 
turned her head away to hide the spasm of pain 
that distorted her features. 

Here was a wound that was always fresh with 
every breath she drew. That had been the real 
pain of parting from the old life. She had kissed 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


241 


him for the last time when he slept. She had crept 
out of the house without seeing him again. The 
little son, whom she would never see again! She 
was allowed by law to do so, but she could not, 
because the second parting would be far harder to 
bear than the first. The pain would be unbearable ! 

“I don’t know why I think so, but daddy ought 
to be here !” 

Nora wanted to shake her, but she controlled her- 
self, and instead, pushed her gently away. 

Two little arms stole around her neck, and she 
shivered. 

“Good-night, mother. It is late, and I’m afraid 
Janet will be furious.” 

Nora kissed Wanda as if she were unreal, and 
watched her as she left the room. She sighed, and 
drew her breath in sharply, and then she remained 
motionless, sitting there like a frozen person. After 
a long time, as it seemed to her, she bent forward 
and shuddered. 

“She’s only a child. She did not know, but these 
eternal questions must stop!” 

That was certain. She must manage it somehow. 
She must be patient. She must study the child. 
It would not be so easy, but she must not despair. 
Suddenly she laughed aloud. She could not fail. 
She had never failed yet. 


242 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Druce, who was passing along the corridor, op- 
ened the door and came in. 

“You are happy, dear one!” 

“Yes — I am happy!” she answered almost hys- 
terically. “Kiss me — take me in your arms — I love 
you!” she murmured. “On the lips — on the lips, 
I say!” 

He, at least, was hers, and by the power of love, 
mad, unreasoning love alone. 


XI 


DRUCE BEGS THE QUESTION 

On several occasions, Druce had asked Nora for 
various small sums of money, and she had given 
them to him without question. It had generally 
been before he started for San Francisco that he 
required the money, and she thought that he had 
merely run short for the time being, and borrowed 
from her rather than rush to the bank at the last 
moment. It was the most natural thing in the 
world for him to do, and the most convenient. She 
gave the money willingly, and without further 
thought, dismissed the matter from her mind. 

For a long time, he had not asked her for any, 
and she wondered why, until she remembered with 
a laugh that he had not been away from home for 
over a month. 

One day, several months later, after one of these 
intervals, she laughingly asked him if he did not 
need some “spondulix.” To her surprise, he 
flushed slightly, and looked rather angry. 

“What’s the joke?” he asked brusquely. 

“I’m surprised that you ask, for you looked at 


244 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


me as if you understood, I thought you did under- 
stand. It was only a roundabout way of asking 
you when you will have to go away again — ” 

“I really don’t understand what you are driving 
at!” 

Nora fancied his tone sounded somewhat formal, 
and tried to discover the reason for it. 

“Druce! you seem angry — ” 

“I am not angry. Why should I be? That’s 
just like a woman — to fly at conclusions. Your 
joke, if it was intended as such, was rather — far 
fetched, and, I think — in — bad taste!” 

“In bad taste ! What do you mean ?” 

“Why, it looks as if I had borrowed the money 
from you, without the faintest notion of repaying 
it—” 

“I never expected you to do so — it never entered 
my head that it was not a gift, and I have never 
even looked for — interest — ” 

“Though I have given you — love!” 

“Yes, but you solemnly promised that — in the 
marriage ceremony. That formed part of the holy 
contract, didn’t it?” 

Druce did not answer at once. He seemed un- 
decided what to say, and Nora was puzzled by 
his silence, for which there appeared to be no reason 
at this moment. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


245 


“I feel,” said he finally, nonchalantly flicking a 
piece of dust off the cuff of his coat, “that it puts 
me in an unusual position — ” 

“That’s a curious thing to say. Explain what 
you mean, please!” 

Nora was rather startled, though she was careful 
not to show it. 

“Well — if you had been suspicious, you might 
have thought — I was spending the money on — an- 
other woman — ” 

“In the first year of our marriage! Oh, no! I 
don’t think you are that kind of a man.” 

Nora smiled scornfully, but Druce turned away, 
and looked off. The action mystified his wife, but 
she waited for what was to follow, for he suddenly 
faced her again. 

“But — you are jealous, you know! Frightfully 
jealous !” 

“Yes, I am, and now, that I come to think of 
it, you have put a new idea in my head! It was 
unwise of you. I wonder what made you do it!” 

“Perhaps it was a guilty conscience!” he sug- 
gested, looking slyly at her. 

“Oh, come, Druce! I wouldn’t go on, if I were 
you. You might go too far, you know. I am 
jealous, but — I am not a fool. Why, you would 
not dare to deceive me in that banal way. I know 


246 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


you would not. It would be like the infidelity of a 
— traveling salesman. I can’t believe you are such 
an absolute vulgarian, but — granted that you were 
already tired of me, it would last longer than six 
months. You are making yourself ridiculous. 
Now, don’t frown and look so serious! You are 
not a scoundrel! Druce! wait — don’t speak yet! 
I was only joking — but it’s all true — glaringly true. 
We have both been dealing too lightly with serious 
things — making dangerous jokes of them — things 
that should be sacred, and — we deserve to suffer. I 
only hope we won’t, but — it’s like tempting Provi- 
dence, you know. I’m sorry, and it was as much 
my fault as it was yours.” 

“Nora, you talk like people in books. Cleverly 
and well, but not quite naturally. In real life they 
don’t talk quite so — badly — at least, I have never 
heard them do so.” 

“People in my books talk as I have heard them 
in real life.” 

“That’s dangerous!” suggested Druce, who had 
regained his composure in a measure. “You might 
be sued for libel.” 

“The truth would be no defence, I know!” she 
said, playing up to his new mood, and they both 
laughed. 

“When are you going to take up your work 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


247 


again?” he asked, evidently relieved to find a con- 
genial topic, because he felt he had been near the 
danger mark. 

“Soon, I think. You have given me many new 
ideas. I really believe I’m eager to jot them down.” 

“I’m glad of that. There’s nothing like work 
to keep one from thinking too much — ” 

“Why shouldn’t I think about things?” she in- 
quired suddenly alert. 

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t think — I mean that 
too much thinking is a dangerous habit — ” 

“You have no bad habits, I suppose?” she asked, 
with a touch of mischief, but he said nothing in 
reply. He smiled foolishly, and then he went out 
to play golf. 

Nora rose and looked out of the window. Then, 
with a shrug of the shoulders, she rang for her 
maid, and dressed to go out. She was to take 
Wanda for a drive, and end up at the Golf club, 
where they were to meet Druce and the Ashtons 
about tea-time. 

During the first part of the drive, Mrs. McAl- 
lister was more or less absorbed. She was in no 
mood for talking, and in response to her little 
daughter’s ceaseless chatter, a slight pressure of 
the hand, from time to time, was all she could give 
her, for the recent bits of conversation between 


248 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Druce and herself stood out too clearly, for her to 
rid her mind of them all at once. 

Nora was working herself into a frenzy of jeal- 
ousy and unjust suspicion, when Wanda’s insistent 
voice broke in on her mood, and brought her back 
with a shock to the present. 

‘‘Mother, what are you thinking about? You’ve 
been so quiet. Don’t you think we ought to talk a 
little bit? It would make the drive pleasanter. I 
don’t care much for driving, but if we talk some 
of the time, I think I can bear it.” 

Nora glanced at the wistful face looking up at 
her, and sighed. Why could she not live from day 
to day, as this little one did? Why did she have 
to go over the past, and attempt to peer into the 
future? She smiled at Wanda, and the child recog- 
nizing that a moment of sympathy was hers, smiled 
back again, and nestled closer to her mother. 

Nora, under the spell of this unusual affectionate 
demonstration of the child, softened. She drew 
nearer to her. As she looked tenderly at her, she 
realized that she might learn more of the little 
creature, by putting herself on a level with her, and 
thus try to see life from her point of view. 

The rest of the drive was a decided success. 
Nora unbent more and more, until she, herself 
became a child. Wanda was delighted with her 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


249 


mother’s affectionate mood, and more than met it, 
and when the carriage drew up at the steps of the 
club house, Nora felt both refreshed and exhila- 
rated. At first, he looked surprised, then, he too, 
smiled, and led the way to the verandah where they 
joined the Ashtons. 

Mrs. McAllister was exceedingly gay. She 
seemed completely to have thrown away the vapors 
which had enveloped her before. She was more 
like the Nora of former days, and Mrs. Ashton said 
she felt that she was meeting some charming stran- 
ger for the first time. 

Although she talked and laughed without re- 
straint, Nora could not entirely forget her ugly 
thoughts. The least she could hope was that her 
forced gayety might not be recognized as such by 
the others, and to judge by the burst of merriment 
which greeted her efforts, she thought she had suc- 
ceeded. 

Wanda’s treble rose above the rest, for she too 
was making the acquaintance of a new mother, 
one that attracted by her fascination, and at whom 
she gazed with eyes full of wonder and delight. 

“You are like a butterfly to-day, Nora!” ex- 
claimed Ethel. “You are dressed so beautifully, 
and you flit about in spirit, like one of those delicate 
creatures, just as gayly and light-heartedly.” 


250 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“I feel as if I were having a vacation,” she 
answered smiling. “Like a schoolboy, who has 
been kept in after hours. As soon as he regains 
his liberty, he runs about in the sunshine, realizing 
to the full, the freedom of the open, and the joy 
of living.” 

“It is a day when one is glad to be alive,” said 
Emilie. 

“It is evidently the day for frivolity,” cried 
Druce, for he could hardly keep his eyes away 
from his wife, she was so full of charm and allur- 
ing mystery for him. 

“It’s not at all an easy thing to do — well!” said 
Jessica, as she looked quietly at Nora. 

Nora met those shrewd eyes unflinchingly, 
and she wondered what she really meant. She 
shrugged her shoulders. She was becoming 
fanciful. 

“I suppose that is a round-about way of paying 
me a compliment,” she suggested smiling faintly. 
“Thank you!” 

“Not at all! So few people seem to realize ob- 
vious things like that, especially when they are so 
extraordinarily — well done.” 

Nora lowered her eyes. She had been found out 
then! But she laughed, and Jessica’s quick ears 
detected a faint touch of nervousness in the sound. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


251 


Certainly the woman had courage, which was just 
what Nora herself thought too. 

Yet she was the tiniest afraid, for she wondered 
if there was more than a shade of malice in the old 
lady. She could not make it out, and it worried 
her. She must study Miss Hargreaves’ nature. 

Later on, when they reached the house, Nora 
bent down and kissed her daughter. 

“Bully!” answered Wanda, and her mother had 
not the heart to correct her. The child kissed her, 
and ran off to find Janet. 

“Anything for me?” inquired Druce, as Nora 
opened the mail bag, which she noticed lying on 
the table. “I’m expecting a letter.” 

“Yes!” she answered, holding it out to him. 

He read it with his back turned, and Nora’s hand 
at that moment came in contact with another letter. 
She drew it out. It also was addressed to her hus- 
band. She did not know the hand-writing. What 
made her do it, she never could tell, but instead of 
giving him that letter, she quietly slipped it into 
the front of her dress. Then she was rather 
frightened. 

“It’s all right, Nora. My drawing has been ac- 
cepted by George & Prince!” 

“So that’s what you wouldn’t let me see?” 

“Yes, and I’ll send them a cheque at once!” And 


252 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


he ran upstairs, two steps at a time, leaving Nora 
standing where she was, slightly bewildered. 

She took the letter stealthily from her dress. She 
must give it to him now. Then her courage 
failed her, for a sudden thought made her fears 
return with renewed force. 

“Was this the letter he had really been ex- 
pecting ?” 

She made her way upstairs, and hid the offending 
envelope beneath the private papers locked away in 
her desk. 


XII 


DRUCE IN SAN FRANCISCO 

Druce had arrived in San Francisco, and already 
started his work. He worked hard, and was in a 
fair way to make a name for himself, for the man 
possessed real genius. The firm having recognized 
his merit, congratulated themselves on having se- 
cured his services. 

On Saturdays he usually returned to Santa Bar- 
bara, and spent Sunday with his wife. When he 
could not get away, he wrote her that he hoped 
soon to make money enough to enable her to move 
to San Francisco. It would be foolish to give up 
the house in Santa Barbara, which he had taken on 
a five year lease, and he would not bring his family 
to town until he could support them in comfort. 
He was working out a scale of expenses, and it 
would take some time before he could possibly 
carry it out, unless some great piece of good luck 
should turn the tide in his favor, and shorten the 
period of waiting. His wife must be patient. He 
was working hard. 


254 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


He begged her not to come to him, as her pre- 
sence would distract him. He trusted that soon 
she would begin a renewal of her own work, and 
that that, together with the friends she had made, 
would make life bearable. He wished that they 
could have gone on longer in the same comfortable 
way, but he had his work, his life work to do, 
and the honeymoon had had to come to an end 
one day. The new friends he had made were not 
the same as the old and tried ones. They did not 
understand. He missed his wife’s companionship, 
her help, her advice, her very presence, but this 
separation had had to be, so why complain? He 
could only hope soon to be able to afford a town 
house as well as a house in Santa Barbara, 
but Santa Barbara would always be home to 
him. 

It all sounded very lonely, and Nora would have 
been miserable, if she had not thought many times 
of the letter locked in her desk. Once she had 
taken it out, and examined its superscription cu- 
riously. The writing on the envelope was not re- 
fined, it looked more like the handwriting of an 
uneducated person, but whether it was written by 
a man or a woman, she could not determine. 

She had resisted temptation many times, for it 
was bad enough to have withheld it, but it would 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


255 


have been unpardonable to go as far as opening 
the letter. She justified her action in withholding 
it, by a system of logic that was more purely per- 
sonal than feminine, and she was perfectly sincere 
and honest about it. 

She had thought the letter might contain some 
news it would be best to keep from her husband. 
She had no reason for thinking so, but the thought 
having come in a flash, she had acted upon it with- 
out further delay. She was accustomed to act 
quickly, and, ordinarily her judgment was sound. 
The only thing that was unfortunate in the present 
instance, was the fact that she could not prove even 
to herself that she had acted wisely. She could 
not do so, without opening the letter, and she dared 
not do that. 

If she felt that she had acted for the best, she 
should have been content, and the loneliness in her 
husband’s letters, almost convinced her that she 
had acted wisely. 

His conduct when they met once a week, or once 
in two weeks, for he did not come home every 
week, coincided with the tone of his letters, and 
further, went a long way to prove to her the com- 
plete wisdom of her action. 

Other things being equal, it was very natural for 
Nora to believe absolutely in her husband at this 


256 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


period of their married life, because she had not 
been aware of his intentions to Estelle St. Clair. 
He had come to his senses before matters between 
them had gone too far, and it was his wife’s ab- 
solute innocence alone which brought him to a 
realization of where he was drifting. That he was 
still seriously in love with Nora, he did not doubt. 
That love was the most important factor in life, 
he still believed. 

Druce’s attitude toward Nora, after breaking 
with Estelle, had been as sincere as remorse would 
allow. He did not know that remorse had any- 
thing to do with it, he only thought he was sorry, 
and had repented. It is a common mistake. He 
did not know, furthermore, that fear had entered 
into the question, fear of self, and fear of the wife 
who loved him. If either of these theories had 
been suggested to him, he would have rejected them 
with both scorn and something very much like anger. 
Moreover, he would have felt that such criticism 
of his righteous conduct was unjust, and to say 
the least, unfair. 

During his hours of leisure, he was faithful to 
Nora. He went to the theatre, but avoided the 
pitfall of the supper afterwards. He made friends, 
but he made it a point never to be intimate with 
anybody, while he was away from his wife. It 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


25 7 


was a bit of gallantry in his nature, that he showed 
to his wife only. 

He was doing the right thing, because he thought 
it was right, not because he feared to do the wrong. 
It is a subtle distinction, and interesting both from 
a moral as well as a psychological standpoint, but 
it is doubtful whether Druce at the present mo- 
ment could have recognized the difference. 

In the same way, it would have been impossible 
for Nora to grasp the moral side of her act, nor 
would she have been capable of distinguishing be- 
tween right and wrong from a purely psychological 
viewpoint. Such distinctions were too fine for 
people who are obeying the dictates of fate. 

It is a common enough error, and may happen 
in the case of most people who are clever, and both 
Nora and Druce were clever, not only in their own 
peculiar lines, but generally as the world views 
cleverness. 

Nora’s great failing was that she attached too 
much importance to self. She was too much given 
to self-analyzation. Her self-control, too, was not 
her strongest point. Druce erred on the other 
side. He thought too little of himself, and it made 
him careless. There is a line to be drawn, and a 
path to be followed, but both far overstepped it, 
being apparently unaware that it existed. 


258 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Druce’s mental attitude was one of self-congrat- 
ulation that he had thrown off the shackles of a 
light love, whereas Nora having acted as she did 
from purely honest motives, was proud of the 
power of a love which could fight and protect. 
Both were inflated with a species of pride, because 
they had overcome obstacles which would have se- 
riously interfered with their happiness. 

The fact that he had conquered a love that was 
purely gross, made him think himself infallible. 
It increased his conceit enormously. He even went 
so far as to think that his success in business was 
a proof that his self-restraint was appreciated in 
higher quarters. 

It was during the height of this exalted condi- 
tion of mind, that one of the bell-boys came into 
his office unannounced. He handed him a letter, 
which he took, but did not open. Instead, he 
looked at the boy inquiringly. 

“Is there any answer ?” he asked. 

“No, I said you was out of town,” was the non- 
committal reply. 

“What made you say that?” asked McAllister 
quickly. 

“It was a lady brought the note, and she said 
if you wasn’t in, she’d wait until she could see ye. 
I didn’t like the looks of her, and so — ” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


259 


“I see. What was she like?” 

“She had yellow hair, and was dressed kind of 
funny. But she wasn’t your kind sir, so I made 
up my mind she shouldn’t see you. She was a 
shark, all right, all right.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I could tell by the cut of her clothes. I know 
’em well. She came toward me, but she didn’t seem 
to come no nearer, and she had a quiet way of 
speakin’, that wasn’t exactly ‘con,’ but it made 
me feel she meant business, and no good at 
that.” 

Who could this woman be? 

“I hope I done right,” said the boy, after he 
had studied Druce impersonally. 

“Oh, yes! Perfectly right. You hit nearer the 
mark than you had any idea of, for — I’m going 
away to-morrow.” 

“Ain’t ye cornin’ back?” 

“No — I’m going to make other arrangements.” 

“Ain’t you satisfied at our place ?” 

“Oh, yes! But I’ve been looking for a smaller 
place — I hate big caravanseries — ” 

“What’s that, mister?” 

“Big hotels. Listen, boy! If that lady comes 
back, just say I’m still out, will you? I think she’s 
only a dun with a bill. I’ll settle her through my 


26 o 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


lawyer. That’s all. Here, put that in your pocket. 
I won’t be in until late to-night.” 

“Thanks. Gee, but you’re the right sort ! Thank 
you sir, and good luck to you ! Good-bye !” 

After the boy had gone, Druce closed the door, 
and sat down again at his desk. He looked closely 
at the letter. The handwriting was not distinc- 
tive, but it had some characteristics that were 
vaguely familiar. Not enough to be recognized, 
though. He still looked at the letter, wondering 
what he had best do with it. If it were something 
serious, it would only unsettle him for work. If 
it were not serious, it would annoy him to have at- 
tached so much importance to it. On second 
thoughts, he decided not to read it now. A little 
delay would do no harm, and besides it would 
not change whatever might happen. 

He unlocked his safe, and took out his despatch 
box. He opened it with his private pass key, 
put the letter in, and promptly forgot all about 
it. 

He had dismissed the incident from his mind, 
but as he made his way along Kearney street, he 
had an uncomfortable suspicion that he was being 
followed. He saw a man cross the street, and 
make in his direction. The man’s eyes were on 
him. He was not mistaken. This was intolerable ! 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


261 


He went into a saloon, and passing through into 
the back room, made an exit to the street. 

It was late when he returned to the hotel, and 
much later when he awoke the next morning, after 
a restless night. For some time he avoided the 
main thoroughfares, and by changing his lodgings, 
he believed himself safe. 

As a matter of fact, Druce had succeeded in 
making his tracker lose the scent. But this time, 
he did not forget, for he was afraid, afraid that 
something yet unforeseen might happen. 


XIII 


MISS JESSICA DISCOURSES 

Nora took Druce’s suggestion, and invited some 
people to tea at the club. 

It seemed like a new life, but she was growing 
used to being alone. After her husband left, she 
was horribly lonely. She missed him, and nothing 
seemed to make up for his absence. She would 
gladly have followed him, but he had not wished it, 
and she understood perfectly that it was pride that 
prevented him from accepting her money to make 
a new home. 

What would she not have given to help, but she 
was powerless. She had to take up her life, and 
order it on new lines, or rather lines that had not 
developed sufficiently to become familiar. With 
Wanda, beyond a certain point, she made no head- 
way. The child was obedient and willing, but the 
love for the mother did not materialize. 

She thought about her literary work, but she 
found it hard to get at it with her one time en- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


263 


thusiasm. She had been idle so long, that she 
felt it impossible for the moment to make a begin- 
ning. The desire would return, but she would 
not force it. She could do better work if she waited 
until the inclination came naturally. There was 
nothing to worry about. She must wait, that was 
all! 

The day of her tea-party, Nora sent Wanda and 
Janet off for the afternoon. The child was to 
romp, and to be under as little restraint as possible. 
Janet made it clear to the child that this was her 
mother’s suggestion. The child was young. She 
was not capable of showing her feelings, of know- 
ing the true from the false, the real from the un- 
real. So, the mother comforted herself, hoping 
against hope that all might be well between them. 
She did not miss a single chance of winning the 
child’s love, but there was no response, not even a 
suggestion of an echo in the child, of the love that 
came from the mother’s heart. 

“When is Druce coming back?” asked Ethel. 

“I don’t know — ” began Nora, smoothing back 
a stray lock of hair. 

“My dear, what a remark to make!” broke in 
Miss Jessica, raising her hands in pretended horror. 

“Why?” inquired Nora, on her guard. 

“Well — it sounds as if you did not care — ” 


264 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Oh, come !” exclaimed Emilie Dorian, poutingly. 
“That's rather beyond the mark.” 

“Beyond what mark?” inquired Miss Hargreaves 
calmly. “Really, my dear, you talk a great deal, 
but it has so little sense. Stock phrases are all 
very well in their proper place, but out of a clear 
sky to make such a very pointed remark, I don't 
see how you have the face to do it !” 

“Professional jealousy!” laughed Emilie. “But, 
of course, no one really takes Miss Jessica seri- 
ously.” 

“Oh, don’t they?” sneered the old lady, ruffling 
her feathers. “Oh, don’t they, indeed?” she re- 
peated more emphatically. “Why, you little 
chit—” 

“Mercy, Miss Jessica!” exclaimed Nora. “I 
never heard such an absolutely uncalled for attack.” 

“It’s not a patch on what I could say !” 

“Then I wouldn’t say it !” suggested Ethel, help- 
ing herself to another cake. 

Miss Hargreaves gasped, but said nothing. 

“That would be the wisest thing, I am sure,” 
agreed Mrs. Dorian, plucking up courage. 

“I don’t know why!” said Miss Hargreaves. 
“We are all old friends, and we ought to be able 
to say what we feel. I see no reason why we 
should stand on ceremony with each other.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


265 


“You would make society a collection of people 
who are playing truth!” began Nora. 

“Or Russian scandal!” finished Ethel, smiling 
sweetly at Miss Jessica, who did not, however look 
in her direction. 

“We might begin now!” suggested she. 

“It might be fun!” ventured Emilie, looking 
about for allies. 

“I would describe society as I found it,” re- 
marked Miss Jessica, ignoring the intervening 
speeches, and answering Nora directly. 

“Well — begin with Mrs. Dorian!” said Mrs. Mc- 
Allister. 

“Emilie is a good little soul,” smiled Jessica 
acridly. “And that’s about all there is to say. Yes 
— I can’t think of anything else.” 

“Miss Hargreaves, how perfectly horrid you 
are!” said Emilie, her pretty head on one side, as 
she glanced at the old lady wistfully. 

“Next — Ethel!” continued Jessica. “I think — ” 
And she stopped suddenly. 

“Well!” 

“She is the best of us, for she’s perfectly honest. 
She’s not masquerading, like some people I 
know.” 

“Who, for instance?” queried Nora, on the de- 
fensive. 


266 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Why you, you dear little fraud !” answered Miss 
Hargreaves 

“In what way?” asked Mrs. McAllister suspi- 
ciously. 

“You came here under false pretenses — ” 

“Miss Jessica!” broke in Ethel, leaning forward, 
and looking angrily at her. 

“Not at all!” was the serene answer. “I read 
a novel or a short story by her”, indicating Nora, 
“and I don’t believe she wrote it.” 

“Why not ?” asked Nora, immensely relieved that 
the conversation had taken this turn. She had 
feared the old lady intended to attack her social 
standing in some way through her divorce. 

“Because you haven’t written a line since you 
have been here. Now, have you?” Nora frankly 
admitted that she had not. “Then how do I know 
that you can write? You ought to prove it!” 

“Like the funny man, who was asked to be 
funny!” was the smiling retort. “But — I can’t 
write on the spur of the moment — just like that!” 

Nora made a funny little protesting gesture. 

“You could have told us that you wrote!” said 
Miss Hargreaves; “instead of deceiving us as if 
you were ashamed of it.” 

“I’m not at all ashamed of it!” 

Miss Hargreaves smiled and looked at Emilie. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


267 


“And I’m going to begin again very soon!” 

“That’s right!” nodded Miss Jessica. “You have 
a splendid chance while your husband is away — ” 

“I believe you glory in my husband’s absence — 
you’re always speaking of it!” 

“No,” was the rather indifferent reply. “I didn’t 
intend to give that impression. I only meant what 
I said.” 

“Really!” said Ethel, as if surprised, though 
she was laughing heartily. “You must be ill!” 

“I’m perfectly well, and — I’m enjoying myself 
hugely. You’re all like a lot of fish — you rise so 
easily. The only thing I can say is that it’s very 
poor sport.” 

And the old woman rose, and waving her hand 
playfully, moved away, chuckling. 

“I never know whether Miss Hargreaves is in 
earnest or not!” exclaimed Nora. 

“Neither do I!” murmured Emilie. 

“She’s rarely in earnest, unless she has an ob- 
ject,” said Ethel. “But, I will say this, I’d rather 
be on her side than opposed to her. She does speak 
very plainly at times.” 

“But she has a good heart !” said Nora. 

“Oh, about that, there is no doubt!” nodded 
Ethel emphatically. “I’ve had proofs — personal 
proofs, too — of that.” 


268 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Nora looked inquiringly at Mrs. Ashton, but she 
shook her head. 

“That would be telling, and I’m nothing if I’m 
not discreet.” 

“Which is often the better part of valor!” sug- 
gested Emilie timidly. “I really must be going!” 

Mrs. Dorian kissed both Ethel and Nora, and 
then walked away, looking from left to right to 
see what impression she was making. 

“She’s pretty, but — ” Ethel paused and laughed. 
“I’ll walk along a little way with you, dear, if 
you are going home.” 

Nora, somehow feeling easier in her mind about 
Miss Jessica, rose, and they strolled off, bowing to 
acquaintances, as they threaded their way among 
the tables which almost choked up the verandah. 

When, however, later on, Mrs. McAllister en- 
tered her own room, she looked about her rather 
wearily. It had been nice at the club, but — was 
she becoming discontented with her home? No, 
for it scarcely seemed like home. It was not what 
she had thought it would be. Her husband was 
away so much. She never knew when he was 
coming. She never knew now how long he would 
remain away, or how long he would stay. It was 
so different from what she had pictured. Ah, the 
picture she had drawn of their life together! A 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


269 


place where they would work in common, after the 
honeymoon was over. And now, here they were 
separated, he working in one place, and she, idle. 
Why was she idle? She must be idle no longer. 
Wanda had not come in. It was a good chance. 
She would begin now. Acting on the spur of the 
moment, she caught up a writing pad and a pencil. 
She felt the hot blood rising in her cheeks. Was 
that what her work really meant? No, it did 
not! It was her life work. There had been an 
interruption. That was all. How should she end 
her novel? Ah, that must be thought out! How 
could she do it alone? Druce had told her so 
much. She had relied so much on his judgment. 
Without him she felt helpless. 

How she longed for him. She loved him so 
passionately. God ! why was he not here ? 

What was it he had said? Friends and work! 
She had had the friends, and now, there was work! 
If she did not have that, what would there be left? 
Nothing, for Wanda she could not grasp, and 
there was nothing else. Nothing else! What a 
situation for a woman! What a reflection for a 
woman who was supposed to be happily married! 
Had she given up the past for this? Ah! There 
was still work. Work, yes, she must work ! Work ! 
Work! 


XIV 

MRS. MCALLISTER TRIES TO WRITE AGAIN 

Nora sought a secluded bench in the garden. On 
her lap was her pad, and in her hand a pencil. 

The title of her novel was ‘Paying the Debt,’ 
and it was about three quarters finished. The first 
half was entirely completed, carefully revised, and 
ready for the press. 

This had been done by Druce and herself in the 
old days, before their marriage. 

Nora’s eyes wandered from the sheet, which still 
remained blank. The memory of those days held 
her. She smiled at the remembrance of her com- 
panionship with Druce, frowned at the recollection 
of Bradford, and resolutely repressed her true feel- 
ings when she thought for the moment of her son. 

Those days were far away, and from the pain 
came the balm of Druce’s presence in them. What 
should she have done without him to comfort her ? 

As if awakening from a dream, her eyes re- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


271 


turned to the sheet on her lap. She tried to take 
up her work, but could not. Her mind was barren 
of inspiration. It had been so long since she had 
worked regularly day by day. 

This was not the way to shake off the shackles 
that held her. She must try to settle down into the 
old routine again. She sauntered into the house, 
and wandered about in search of a suitable room 
in which to work. At last she chose a small one 
next to the linen closet. It would answer admir- 
ably, and there was a chest of drawers, where she 
could keep her papers. 

She went down to her own room, opened a small 
box, and took out all her manuscripts. She would 
have them taken up to her new workshop. She 
smiled as she turned to ring the bell. On the way 
she caught a glimpse of her typewriter, still un- 
packed. That must go up also. Why should she 
not take all these things up herself? The box 
was not very heavy. The case with the machine 
in it she felt she could manage by herself. 

She dragged the box to the bottom of the stairs, 
and by dint of pulling and shoving, finally suc- 
ceeded in placing it in the corner of the little room 
upstairs near the window. She went down for the 
leather case, and with difficulty lifted it and took 
it to its new resting place. 


272 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Everything was ready, yet not a stroke of writ- 
ing marred the whiteness of the paper before her. 
Ideas would not come. She had been away from 
her work too long. She did not know what to do. 
In the old days her mind had been active, teem- 
ing with ideas. Now, themes were wanting, or 
would not come at her bidding. Dreams there 
were, but they remained dreams. 

It was like a child when it is called in the morn- 
ing. He turns over with a sleepy smile, and sleeps 
again, the smile fades, though the flush of sleep 
remains. Once more he dreams. Once more real- 
ity passes into unreality. The passage of time is 
lost. Again he is called. The smile reappears and 
fades again, and sleep is once more the victor. 

So it was with Nora. She looked into space. 
She dreamed. She drummed on the table impa- 
tiently, but it was no use. Work she could not. 

She put down her pencil. She opened the drawer, 
and drew out her fragmentary notes. She had 
reached a point where she was puzzled. There was 
nothing to do, but read the manuscript over from 
the beginning. In this way she might be able to 
pick up the thread that had been lost. 

She spread out the manuscript and began to 
read, carefully and with growing concentration. It 
was easy to read, because there was nothing to cor- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


273 


rect. She and Druce had gone over all this care- 
fully in the old days. 

How long ago that seemed! So many things 
had happened since then! The past was far away. 
Its ugly angles had softened, and only the pleasant 
incidents stood out clearly. At times, she raised 
her head, and smiled. Some line brought back the 
memory of the time when it had been written. 
That was Druce’s suggestion. This had been hers. 
It was extraordinarily well done. The rest of the 
book should be equally good. 

The object of this novel was to teach a great 
truth, but the difficulty lay in the fact, unknown to 
the writer, that she was proceeding from a false 
premise. She had reckoned without taking into 
consideration, an exceedingly potent and negligible 
factor, the relation of the sexes. But it was a side 
issue, not the main one. She wrote in no ambigu- 
ous terms that she was a firm believer in the doc- 
trine of platonic friendship. That she could be 
wrong, or possibly mistaken, her exaggerated ego 
prevented her from seeing. 

The fundamental key-note of her story was that 
nothing could prevent a woman from accomplish- 
ing her destiny. To do this effectively, she must 
use the tools ready at hand. It was a very simple 
matter, and only had to be carried out by the 


274 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


mechanical process of filling in. Her plot was like 
a mold. She was to pour in a part of her brain. 
That there could be any difficulty in this, she had 
had no inkling up to the present time. The reason 
for this was simple. 

She had her own peculiarly personal and original 
method of constructing a novel. She scorned to 
follow out any recognized plan. In a play, yes, for 
there were rules to be observed, rules that were 
clear, but in a book the scope was larger, the pos- 
sibilities less restricted, the field more extended, and 
one was not limited. One had a freer hand, in 
fact, and so one discovered one’s own method. 

Nora believed that in announcing herself as a 
disciple of platonic friendship, she was stating her 
proposition, but as she was supposed to be paying 
a debt, it could not be clear how this was so. A 
mystery is all very well, but it should not remain 
a mystery too long, and it must be effectually 
recognized as a mystery from the start. 

Of course she admitted that Druce had been a 
great help, but it had been a mistake for him to 
suggest the possibility of the artist and the young 
painter falling in love with each other. The con- 
verse was obvious from Nora’s point of view, for 
as she reflected, she had married Druce, and he 
had helped her. She comforted herself by acknowl- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


275 


edging that the two cases were different. Druce 
had fallen in love with her, and she with him, but 
the man in her book must not fall in love with her 
heroine, it would spoil the whole scheme. 

Her idea of paying the debt that a man owes to 
society in return for his existence was, that the per- 
son so benefitting had nothing else to give. A 
woman of intellect gave the product of her brain. 
It was a finer gift, and this was what her heroine 
had started out to do. 

How well she remembered the discussion she 
and Druce had had on this very scene between the 
two artists! Love had entered into the situation 
entirely unexpectedly, Nora being unaware that the 
woman was herself, and the man, Druce. She 
had taken herself as the heroine because she had an 
object in life, a debt to pay to society, and Druce 
was in a measure responsible for that, for he was 
always preaching about the human touch in a book, 
and that it was essential to its ultimate success. 
What could be more human than a character taken 
from life, and in the present case, it had exactly 
fitted in. 

It had been done unconsciously, because it seemed 
so natural. Druce being at hand, had fitted in the 
same way. When the real character began making 
love, the idea, all unsuspected, worked itself into 


276 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


the story, and now it would not, it could not be 
taken out. Besides, it was so beautifully written, 
it seemed a pity to strike out what might be ad- 
mired, her masterpiece, doubtless. Druce had sug- 
gested the title to suit the situation, but to this Nora 
would not listen, for it would destroy the funda- 
mental thought, the deep truth she had set out to 
expound. He had suggested calling the book Tak- 
ing Chances,’ laughingly adding that if she did 
marry the man, the heroine might find that he had 
feet of clay after all. 

Her answer was that if he were going to treat 
serious matters, matters that meant so much to 
her, in a light way, he might as well not suggest 
anything. It did not help her to bring forward 
ideas of that kind. They were so utterly opposed 
to her own. They were not possible. They were 
almost absurd. She did concede that her charac- 
ters sometimes became unmanageable, and both did 
and said things that she had not intended, but those 
were cases where it did not make much difference. 
The present case mattered exceedingly. This sit- 
uation must be conquered, and her obstreperous 
character held in check. 

“If Druce were only here!” This was the prayer 
she breathed from her heart, but its ending was too 
truly feminine to fit in with its divine side : “I be- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


277 


lieve I could convince him that he was wrong.” 

As if in answer to her heartfelt desire, she heard 
a voice calling out from below: 

“Nora! where are you?” 

It was Druce, and he had returned after a 
longer absence than usual. 

She sprang to her feet, ran to the top of the 
stairs, and then stopped. She remembered that he 
had neither written nor wired her of his coming. 

“What had happened ?” she wondered. 


XV 


WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 

Nora descended the staircase slowly. She reached 
the first floor, and paused again at the top of the 
last flight. She seemed to be listening. 

“Yes, who is it?” 

Her voice sounded unnatural, yet it was imper- 
sonal. There was, however, an undercurrent of 
something unusual in the peculiar timbre; it was 
as if she were repressing herself, her real feelings, 
but strove to conceal some mood she did not wish 
recognized. 

“Nora!” 

“Yes, I am coming!” 

She came down quickly, her eyes downcast, when 
she reached the hall. Then she looked up into 
her husband’s eyes. 

“You never wrote me — you never telegraphed — ” 

“But — aren’t you glad to see me?” 

Nora noticed that his glance wavered for a mo- 
ment before he looked away, and again she won- 
dered what had happened. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


279 


“Of course, I’m glad to see you, but — I’m taken 
by surprise. I didn’t expect you — ” 

Druce made some unintelligible reply, and turned 
away. 

During that moment, Nora studied him critically. 
As in a flash she saw that he had changed. Some- 
thing had happened. He did not seem exactly wor- 
ried, but he was paler than usual, and his action 
when he finally turned away to hang up his coat, 
which he still carried over his arm, was jerky and 
spasmodic. This was not like him, for he was us- 
ually calm and self-possessed, even as his outward 
appearance was at this moment. 

It would have taken a practiced eye to detect 
these slight changes, but Nora had prepared herself 
to find something out of the ordinary in Druce, and 
was not unduly taken aback, though she could not 
imagine what had caused it. 

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” 

Her voice sounded mechanical in her own ears, 
but he did not seem to notice it. 

“Fancy my having forgot it!” 

He kissed her, but she drew back gently. She 
stooped to pick up her handkerchief, so he did not 
see her face. She had flushed deeply, and then 
grown suddenly white. Even his kiss was differ- 
ent. What did it mean? 


28 o 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Will you have some tea ?” she asked. “You look 
tired — ” 

“I am not tired,” he protested somewhat 
vehemently. “I mean — I’ve been very busy 
lately—” 

“Yes — have you been getting on — well?” 

She averted her eyes, and moved along slowly to 
the library. Druce looked at her wistfully. 

“Very well,” he answered quickly. But he was 
annoyed at the question. 

She affected not to notice it. 

“You must have some tea — it is the best thing 
when one is — overtired.” 

Druce looked at her sharply. She had changed 
her tactics. She would try to find out later what 
was wrong. 

“Shall we make it like the English teas we — used 
to have?” 

She put a touch of tenderness into her question. 

She wished to discover whether anything had 
come between them. Whether he thought that he 
had any cause for complaint against her. She had 
invoked the memories of those other days to find 
out. If she failed, there were other ways of learn- 
ing what it was that was on his mind. If it were 
not she who had offended, then she must find out 
what other cause it could be. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


281 

“Go into the library, dear!” she said. “I shall 
bring in the tray myself, as I used to do.” 

She looked at him affectionately, but he was 
preoccupied, and had already disappeared into the 
room she had indicated. 

She sighed, and went to the back of the house 
to superintend the preparation of the tray. The 
maid carried it into the hall, and then Nora took 
it into the room where her husband sat in a deep 
chair, his shoulders hunched, his brow furrowed 
with evident anxiety. Nora, pretending not to have 
seen anything out of the ordinary, came forward 
slowly. 

“Druce, do take this tray!” she said, with a 
charming assumption of gayety and a touch of co- 
quetry. “It is heavier than I thought, or else — I 
am getting older!” 

Druce jumped up. His lassitude vanished instantly. 
He took the tray from her, and she cleared a table 
on which to put it. This done, he surprised her by 
taking her in his arms, and kissing her passionately. 

“It is I who have changed — ” 

“What do you mean? When you kiss me like 
that — I can’t believe it!” 

She had buried her head upon his shoulder, so she 
did not see the look of pain that shot across his 
face. 


282 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Now, do let me serve the tea! It’s one lump, 
isn’t it?” she asked, sitting down. “You’re almost 
like a stranger. I feel almost as if I were having 
an affair with a man who was not — my hus- 
band.” 

Nora looked down, and smiled, but she knew in 
her heart, that Druce’s answering smile he forced 
to meet the lightness of her mood. He was gazing 
at her in horror, but just as suddenly he pulled 
himself together. He must be on his guard. The 
memory of a letter he had received recently, still 
haunted him. It had hinted at strange things, 
things that he had forgotten, of people whom he 
had thought dead and buried. 

Nothing definite had been said, but it had stirred 
up the embers of a dead past in a way that annoyed 
him. He had not been frightened, because the 
whole thing had been so absurd. The letter had 
purposed to be from a woman he had thought dead. 
It was a leaf from the past. It was not written 
by the woman herself, but on her behalf. It 
had all been exceedingly vague, but it had upset 
him. 

Suppose Jenny were alive! Suppose the woman 
he had married was alive ! He had been half drunk 
when the ceremony had taken place, and he had 
deserted her a few days later, and then had heard 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


283 


that she had been killed in an accident on the rail- 
road. Since then, he had heard nothing until the 
arrival of the mysterious letter. It was very 
strange, but it could not be true. It might be 
blackmail, but who could have known the circum- 
stances? No one that he had even known. It 
could not be that Edith had not died, for then, 
Nora, sitting opposite to him was not his wife. He 
was a bigamist, but not by his own fault. 

“Here is your tea!” said Nora, staring at him 
curiously. “What is the matter?” 

“Nothing — nothing at all!” And by force of 
will he took the cup from her with a steady hand. 
Hot as it was, he gulped it down, and set the cup 
down on the corner of the table. 

“There are some sandwiches — cake — fruit — ” 

“Yes, thank you — it all looks very nice.” 

He helped himself to a small sandwich, and then, 
pulled out his cigarette-case. Nora noticed that he 
smoked furiously. 

“I believe I’ll take a walk before dinner,” he 
said suddenly. “It will do me good — freshen 
me up — make me feel like a new man, you 
know !” 

Without waiting for permission he walked from 
the room. 

Nora stared at him. 


284 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“It seems almost as if he didn’t want to be with 
me!” she murmured beneath her breath. 

Could it be that he was only worried over his 
business? Had he been working hard, too hard, 
and did he fear that he was not going to succeed? 
She could not tell, because he had not given her 
any information. She had nothing to go on. She 
could only imagine, and that was so misleading, 
so unsatisfactory. She could imagine the worst, 
or she could deride the fears that were slowly coil- 
ing themselves about her heart. She could not be 
certain. That was the worst of it. 

Perhaps Druce was ill, and was trying to keep 
it from her. Perhaps his illness came from over- 
work. That would explain a good deal. His 
pre-occupation, his irritability, and his restless- 
ness. 

Perhaps he was the victim of some imaginary 
enemy. Perhaps this was what was troubling him. 
An enemy hits in the dark, and he was afraid be- 
cause he could not see his foe. He could only 
guess who it was, or perhaps fear, but no, Druce 
was not a coward. He would not endure in silence 
like a woman, suffering needlessly. He would not 
remain passive, he would strike. No, Druce, what- 
ever his faults, was not the man to act the part of 
a villain. He would rather die first. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


285 


Suddenly Nora started to her feet. An ugly 
thought struck her. What of the letter she had 
kept from him? Had he received another in San 
Francisco? Could the letter be from a woman? 

On the spur of the moment, she rushed upstairs. 
The door into Druce’s dressing-room was closed. 
She crossed the room, and listened eagerly. Druce 
was there. He must have returned unexpectedly. 
He was muttering to himself. Detached words, 
sometimes curses, she heard, but she could not 
make out the sense of what he was saying. 
She stood it, as long as she could, and then she 
stretched out her hand toward the door-knob. 

At this moment, she heard Druce’s door open, 
and next she heard his steps going quietly down 
stairs. 

Then she entered stealthily, and looked about her. 
The room was in order. Nothing was wrong, or 
out of place. She thought she must have been 
mistaken, for she thought she had heard him toss- 
ing things about. She walked over to the dressing- 
table. One or two of the drawers were partly open, 
and they were empty. 

What had been bothering him, for she had cer- 
tainly heard angry mutterings ! Several fragments 
of paper were lying on the centre table, and she 
examined them. They belonged to an envelope. 


286 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


She made out a part of Druce’s name. It was ad- 
dressed to his lodgings in San Francisco. The 
handwriting reminded her of a specimen she had 
seen before. 

She walked back to her own room, her eyes on 
the pieces of paper, which she was studying. Sud- 
denly she went to her desk. There was a possibility. 
Perhaps she was mistaken. She must compare the 
writing on that other letter she had locked up so 
long ago, and which she had almost forgotten. 

The two were absolutely similar. She replaced 
the letter in her desk, dropping it as if it burned 
her. She must find Druce. He must explain. 

No, she would not speak to him now. She was 
afraid. She must not let him suspect. She would 
act as if nothing had happened. She went down 
stairs in search of him. She looked about for him, 
but could find him nowhere. Perhaps he had gone 
out for another walk, before dinner. 

Before she left the room to go down to dinner, 
she took a final and irrevocable decision. She must 
speak to Druce to-night. She could not bear this 
suspense any longer. 

She rang for a servant, and when she appeared, 
asked where Mr. McAllister was. 

“He went out, madam. He said he would be 
dining at the club.” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


287 


“Of course, Mary. I think I must be losing my 
mind. I had forgotten. I’ll ring for dinner later.” 

“I forgot to say that the master had his bag 
with him.” 

“Yes — he said — he was going to take his things 
over to the club to-night. He is going — to play 
golf — to-morrow.” 


XVI 


WORKING UNDER PRESSURE 

Druce's departure had been sudden and unex- 
pected. He had received a telegram at the club 
where he had decided to dine. His telegrams were 
always sent to the club, and he had strolled over 
there, and then returned to pack his bag and return 
there for dinner. 

The telegram read: “Why do you not answer 
my letters? Join me Denver old quarters/ It was 
unsigned, but from its peculiar wording, he could 
not doubt but it came from the woman he had 
thought dead. He did not accept this decision as 
final, however. It must be investigated, followed 
up, and proved, before he lost heart completely. 

Druce was not a coward, but he felt that he 
could not face his wife just now. He must be by 
himself. He must go back to San Francisco, and 
work out this clue. If it led to what he feared, the 
truth, there was a remedy he could use, a desperate 
one, to be sure, but a certain one. He would kill 
himself ! 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


289 


If he had two wives, both should be widows, and 
perhaps his act might save the innocent one by 
closing the lips of the other. He could only hope 
that this would be the case, should he be forced to 
the wall. 

At the last moment, he deliberated whether he 
should go directly to Denver. No, that might pre- 
cipitate matters, and there still remained hope, that 
they might turn out better than at present seemed 
possible. Besides, he felt safer in San Francisco. 
It seemed better to be in a large city. One could 
conceal one’s self there better, if necessary. 

He wrote to Nora that he had been called away 
very suddenly on business. He hoped to return 
to Santa Barbara very soon. He would be in a 
better humor then, for he had been worried, but 
soon hoped to remove the cause, which was con- 
nected with business. He sent much love, and 
begged her not to worry about him. He was really 
all right, and sorry to have been so cross, but it 
could not be helped. 

There was not a word about the possibility of her 
joining him. There was not a word about his 
making any money. He mentioned business, and 
that was all. Nora answered the letter, and pro- 
fessed complete understanding of the situation. A 
woman understands moods better than a man, she 


290 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


wrote, but she did not add that a man rarely has 
moods without a cause. She said that she was 
trying to work at her book, but neglected to say 
that she had accomplished nothing, or that she 
would have liked to talk over the scene they had 
so often discussed. 

Somehow, she felt that Druce would not be re- 
ceptive. Perhaps such matters would appear trivial 
to him now. He was so different from the old 
Druce, but here she pressed her lips firmly together, 
and forced herself to think of something else. This 
was a dangerous moment, and she needed all her 
courage to live her daily life without losing her 
hold over herself. 

She lived from moment to moment, expecting 
she knew not what, and still nothing happened. 
Druce’s letters sounded more contented. He re- 
ferred to things that were pleasant. This was easy 
enough in a letter, but not so simple a matter when 
he and Nora were face to face. But Nora did not 
dare to question him. She felt, too, that any un- 
wary action on her part, might bring matters to a 
head. This would ruin any chances of happiness 
that might remain for her, and as nothing hap- 
pened to disturb her husband seriously as far as 
she could observe, it was more tactful, to let matters 
alone. 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


291 


She did not deny, even to herself that she was 
unhappy, but she feared to do anything that might 
make her more unhappy still, for this cloud might 
pass away. So, this wretchedly unhappy woman 
endured, and hid her grief, taking up the routine 
of her life as best she could. 

Druce thinking that he was doing the same thing, 
waited with what patience he could. As a matter 
of fact, nothing happened. Letters and telegrams 
ceased. It was very mysterious. Nothing was 
forwarded from Santa Barbara, either from his 
house or the club. Nothing came to his lodg- 
ings. No word came to the general delivery. He 
could not understand it. What had happened? 
As time went on, he breathed more freely, scarce- 
ly daring to hope that his troubles were over. 
He gave himself up to business with greater 
zest. 

He managed to pay frequent visits to Santa Bar- 
bara, but as he never suggested making the move 
to San Francisco, Nora decided it would be un- 
wise to take the initiative. She would live alto- 
gether in the present, and trust in the future. Her 
husband loved her. They were happy, not so happy 
as at first, but still happy, and so life went on, more 
or less smoothly. 

She realized that the years were passing swiftly. 


292 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


She was an older and a wiser woman, for those 
same years had taught her much. 

Life became a routine for them both, and each 
accepted with gratitude, the crumbs of happiness 
which fell to their share. 

The routine of her life applied equally to her ef- 
forts with Wanda. They reached a certain point, 
and there they stopped. Nora could not make any 
further headway, for the young girl, with a strange 
reserve, held her mother from her, not openly, but 
secretly, surely. 

As far as her writing went, Nora did not have 
the spirit or the determination to make the effort. 
This was true, as to the novel, though she did write 
a number of short stories, which she sent to various 
magazines under an assumed name. She had not 
the heart to sign her own name. It really made 
very little difference as to whether the stories 
were accepted or not. It made her happier to 
work. 

The change in Nora had been so gradual, that 
she did not seem to be aware of it at all. To her 
friends, she seemed the same charming, vivacious 
woman. They thought she was happy, and wrote 
to their friends to that effect. Druce came and 
went. His visits were part of the accepted scheme 
of things, but she did not complain. She loved 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


293 


him, and she felt sure of his love. What more 
could any woman want? 

Nora had fallen into a rut, but it was an orderly 
one, and she lived in its narrow limits without fric- 
tion, therefore without thought of anything dif- 
ferent. As long as she had Druce and Wanda, and 
the love of both, all they could give, she had no 
further desire. 

She was like a woman in a dream, and she was 
happy. She no longer fought, as at first, against 
the decrees of fate, she no longer considered them 
unjust, she accepted them as inevitable. 

Druce, being a man, had not arrived at this 
forced state of mental serenity without many wrest- 
lings of spirit. He had chafed, shown his irrita- 
tion, and then was obliged to apologize to his wife 
for his bad temper. Druce only saw in his wife, 
the sweetness and tenderness of the woman he still 
loved. That was enough for him. With her there 
was a perfect peace. 

His work, which had become more and more ab- 
sorbing, helped him to forget, and he plunged into 
it with feverish activity. But he was accomplish- 
ing great things, for the best results are often pro- 
duced at high pressure. 

If Nora ever found anything to complain of, it 
was because she had no children by her husband. 


294 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


In the beginning, she had planned to devote her 
life to them, but now she accepted the fact with 
her usual placidity and resignation. 

She was happy in the society of her friends. She 
loved her daughter, and got out of her what she 
could. Her husband she loved, and there seemed 
to be nothing lacking in the present scheme of her 
daily life to warrant any apprehension that it 
would not last. 

Miss Jessica Hargreaves had proved herself a 
very pleasant and lasting help in this time of 
trouble. Ethel Ashton had told the truth about her. 
She always did the right thing, she was never in 
the way, and she was ever at hand when she was 
needed. Whether the old lady had an inkling that 
anything was wrong, for her intuitions were inva- 
riably correct, it is difficult to say, but she could 
not have been kinder or more helpful, if she had 
known. She was no longer bitter or scornful. 

She was a friend, but how much of a one, Nora 
did not know, for Miss Jessica’s efforts were un- 
tiring and too impersonal to cause comment, or 
even notice. She was the good Samaritan, but she 
would not have wished her ministrations to be seen, 
still less to be remarked. Some people thought that 
she had had a love affair in her youth, and that 
it had been serious. That the bitterness had re- 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


295 


mained, when the affair had come to an end, proved 
that she had not forgotten, that she could not 
forget, but in another’s trouble, she had sunk self, 
and allowed the tender buds of kindness to spring 
forth from the seeds of sympathy, which lay al- 
most buried in her apparently crooked and warped 
nature. 

When Druce was in Santa Barbara, Miss Jes- 
sica came but seldom, but when Nora was alone, 
she was not often absent from the house, where 
she supposed that she was welcome. Nora, after 
the first feeling of surprise, found her friend in- 
dispensable. 

When Druce remained away beyond the usual 
time, Miss Jessica had something to suggest for 
amusement or recreation. 

Druce had been gone for over six weeks, and 
Nora was worried. This time she sent for her 
good friend, and while waiting for her to arrive, 
she started a letter to her husband. 

“Dearest Druce,” she wrote. “Don’t forget that 
next Wednesday is the fifth anniversary of our 
wedding. It would please me if you could manage 
to be here — ” 

She paused, and then, out of a clear sky, the tears 
came. 

Miss Hargreaves, who entered at this moment, 


296 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


came forward, and taking Nora by the hand, led 
her to a sofa. 

“My dear!” she said softly. “I am an older 
woman, and I have seen a great deal of life, more 
than most people suspect. I have been studying 
you for some time, and you are not happy. Don't 
interrupt me! To-morrow, you and I are going to 
work out that chapter that is bothering you.” 


XVII 


SETTLING THE QUESTION 

Druce was seated at his desk in the office, poring 
over the half completed sketch of a terraced garden, 
which he had been commissioned to work out in 
connection with a country house he had been build- 
ing for a rich client. His feet were bent back, and 
held in place by one of the rungs of his high stool. 
His drawing pencil lay beside him, for his head 
was supported by both hands, as he stared fixedly 
down at his pad. 

Finally he threw back his head and yawned. 
What a bore it was that commercialism was forced 
by existing conditions into the realm of art! He 
felt annoyed that his own sound judgment should 
not be taken, in this matter, without question. As 
it was, his ideas had to be modified, for it had been 
distinctly stipulated that not more than a certain 
sum should be expended on this part of the work. 
He did not see how it could be done, and had hon- 
estly tried to satisfy his eccentric client. An added 


298 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


difficulty was the fact that his ideas and those of 
the owner of the house were widely divergent. 
How to bring them into focus was a problem that 
required much thought and careful consideration. 

The fact was that Druce had not as yet learned 
his lesson, or rather he refused to recognize it as 
such, and that was, that it is often more diplomatic 
to realize that the wishes of rich and influential 
patrons must sometimes be greater than the art 
he loved, that is, if he ever expected to eke out a liv- 
ing, or at last make a start in his chosen profession. 

Finally he came to the conclusion that he had in 
a measure reached a stone wall, and he must bring 
his work to a temporary halt. It would do no 
good to go on, until some new point of view pre- 
sented itself. He pushed aside the pad, and turn- 
ing to a chest of drawers, took out the detail work 
of the cornice, for the house was not entirely com- 
pleted. Perhaps he could manage to retrench some- 
where either inside or outside of the house, with- 
out wounding his artistic sensibilities, solving the 
vexed problem in this way. If he succeeded, the 
matter might be adjusted in deference to the wishes 
of both parties to the contract. 

While Druce was working out his plans, his 
wife was wrangling over her novel with Miss Har- 
greaves. The latter very justly observed that to 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


299 


retain the lover would be to defeat the real object 
of the book. Nora refused to yield. Miss Jessica 
held that if her friend felt that way about such 
an exceedingly crucial point, she had best stop, 
for it was clear to her, that Nora’s powers of dis- 
cernment were not so sure as before. Nora first 
stared, and then was convinced that she was mis- 
taken. 

“I cannot write!” she admitted drearily. “Some 
vital spark seems to have died within me. I shall 
have to give up this work. I have been forcing an 
interest in it for some time. It does not seem to 
mean so much to me as it did. I cannot understand 
what has happened!” 

“Perhaps you are — tired!” But Nora looked 
dreamily out of the window, and Miss Jessica 
wondered whether she had heard. 

“I have always been convinced that a man and a 
woman who had a common interest in art, were in 
no danger of falling in love with each other — ” 
said Nora, after a pause. 

“That might be true, if the man was equally in 
earnest — ” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“Just what I say. But so few men are!” 

“I don’t understand — ” 

Miss Hargreaves smiled at the irritability in 


300 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


Nora’s tone, and leant forward, as she spoke. 

“Why — that all this might not have happened — ” 
she quibbled weakly. 

“All what?” 

“All these questions that vex you, or that you 
think, do.” 

“Do speak plainly for once!” 

“I will. If you hadn’t go.t this absurd notion 
in your head that writing was your mission in 
life — you are so unnecessarily intense and full of 
self — you would have been a great deal happier in 
the long run. Then again, you did not exercise 
enough self-control — ” 

“I was forced by circumstances to consider what 
seemed wisest — ” 

“What’s that got to do with self-control? There 
you go again, straight off the handle — ” 

“I’m very unhappy !” 

“I am sorry, but one day, you will learn the 
truth. Listen! You have been following the line 
of least resistance, believing it to be the only one, 
when it was merely the easiest way. Now, what 
you ever married Druce McAllister for — ” 

“You’ve no right — ” began Nora indig- 
nantly. 

“You know you’ve been living in a fool’s para- 
dise!” 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


30 1 


“How dare you suggest that — I am not the — 
happiest woman in the — world?” 

Miss Jessica looked at the flushed face, and 
sighed. 

“You are right! I had no business to meddle, 
and—” 

“We won't say any more about it, then!” 

“No!” 

Miss Hargreaves, seeing that she had failed to 
awaken Nora, took her departure. There was one 
hope left. Perhaps her words would bear fruit 
in due season, but perhaps, too, they had fallen on 
barren ground! 

Meanwhile Druce in distant San Francisco still 
pored over his papers. 

The office boy came in and laid down a letter on 
the desk beside him, but he was too absorbed even 
to notice that any one had come in. Suddenly he 
smiled, and leaning back, stretched his arms above 
his head. He had solved the problem ! 

Taking up his specifications again, his eye fell 
on the letter. He recognized the handwriting as 
the same one he had seen on previous letters, and 
he turned white. 

The blow had fallen! 

There were several matters he must attend to 
at once. He must write to his wife, and make a 


302 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


clean breast of his former marriage. As God was 
his judge, he had thought his wife dead when he 
married his beloved Nora. This was good-bye. 
He loved her, but he dared not live with this sin 
on his soul. When she received this, he would be 
dead by his own hand! It was the only way! He 
rang for the boy. 

‘Tost this, will you, as you go out?” And his 
voice did not falter. “You needn’t wait! Go out 
the other way, and lock the door! I have my 
key. That is all — good-bye ! I mean : — good- 
night!” 

He waited until he was alone, listening with 
strained attention. He heard the door of the other 
office bang, and he started to his feet. It was not 
to be so easy, after all. 

He looked piteously about the room, and his throat 
contracted. Yet it would have to be done. He 
had loved Nora, and he felt that she had brought 
out the best that was in him, but now he must give 
her up. He had no right to her. But it had not 
been his fault. He had that thought to comfort 
him. 

He found the other letter. He laid the two en- 
velopes side by side. What need to open them? 
What good would it do? He would learn nothing 
new. It would only be turning the scalpel in an 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


303 


open wound, a wound that would never heal. No, 
it was best to burn them, and this he did, scatter- 
ing the ashes about, so that not a vestige should 
remain, not a shadow of proof exist of what he 
had been, against his will. 

And now, to make an end of himself! He sat 
down to think about it. He looked toward the 
drawer in which he always kept his pistol. No, he 
could not choose that way. It was too brutal, too 
ugly! Even at this awful moment, his love of the 
beautiful remained his ruling passion. His delib- 
erations were calm as far as outward appearance 
went, but his nerves were under a terrible tension, 
though he was unaware of this ; else he could 
never have gone through to the bitter, inevitable 
end. 

He paced the room, his brows furrowed. At 
times, he stared about him, fixedly, almost suspi- 
ciously. 

How should he kill himself? he asked himself 
in desperation, more than once, but no solution 
presented itself. 

Poison ? No, that was too lingering. The room 
was lighted by electricity, and as he glanced at 
the fixtures, he saw gas attachments also. Strange 
that he had never noticed the jets before! His 
decision was made instantly. But it was the work 


304 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


of many hours to stop up every cranny, every out- 
let where air might enter. It was done at last, and 
he seated himself in a comfortable chair, with 
every jet wide open. It was a luxurious way to 
die! Ideas came unbidden, but they were elusive 
and fragmentary. 

Presently, he became conscious of a loud noise. 
He must prevent that. Again, he seemed unable 
to breathe. How unpleasant that was ! Ah, it was 
unbearable. God, he must have air. He tried to 
rise, but he could not. He lay there without a 
struggle. Sensation was almost gone. He was 
very drowsy. His head fell forward. He slept. 


XVIII 


THE MEASURE METED 

“Mother, this is my fourteenth birthday — ” began 
Wanda. 

Nora, who was brushing her hair looked around 
at her daughter inquiringly. 

“And I am of age, according to California law!” 
continued the girl, her eyes curiously bright. 

Nora noticed that the child was very much ex- 
cited, and wondered why such a simple fact as a 
birthday should move her so strongly. Usually she 
said nothing on ‘such occasions. What could it 
mean ? 

“So, as I am of age — I’ve decided to go back 
to my — father ! I’ve written to him, and I’m leav- 
ing to-day. My ticket is bought, and — ” 

“Wait, for God’s sake! I must speak to you. 
You can not — you must not leave me. Wanda! 
Wanda!” 

Nora stretched out her hands imploringly, but 
the child shook her head, and smiled scornfully. 

“It’s no use, I’m going!” 


3°6 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


“Wait — there are things I must say to you — 
things I must explain — ” 

“What things ?” asked the child bluntly. 

“Oh, sit down!” moaned the mother; “and, don’t 
look at me like that — I can’t bear it — I can’t bear 
it!” 

Wanda, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down 
as she was bidden. 

“Listen, my child! I love you, and you are all 
that I have — all that really belongs to me — ” 

“You have Mr. Druce — what more do you 
want?” 

“Oh, Wanda, don’t speak to me in that hard 
way — have pity! have pity! I am so unhappy. 
Don’t you care — don’t you care ?” 

“I am sorry you are unhappy, but it is your 
own fault — ” 

“I know it — but — Wanda, you are no longer a 
child. Don’t you see that Druce has gone away, he 
has left me — alone. If you go, I shall have no 
one — no one.” 

“But what makes you think that Mr. Druce isn’t 
coming back? I thought he had gone to make a 
home for you. Mr. Dorian told me he was doing 
very well. He’ll soon have enough money to buy 
a house in town. You’ll like the change. I’m sure 
you will.” 







41 MY LIFE HAS BEEN ONE LONG, BITTER MISTAKE ! 99 

Page 306 . 







































. 

































THE WIFE DECIDES 


307 


“Wanda, you must not leave me! Sometimes, I 
think Druce may not be coming back — that my hap- 
piness has all been a dream. Perhaps it is a dream, 
and I shall wake to find the past here again? Ah, 
if I only could !” 

“A lot of good that would do you, you who left 
my father — ” 

“That’s what I wish to say to you — what I wish 
to try to explain. It won’t be easy. Perhaps if 
I don’t look at you, it may make it less difficult, 
and you must not interrupt. You will just listen 
very attentively, and look somewhere else — don’t 
look at me! Promise me that you won’t look at 
me — dear — promise !” 

“Just as you say, but I’m going soon. It’ll be 
good-bye, good-bye between you and me, mother, 
and — I must tell the truth — I can’t pretend any more 
— I shan’t be sorry. I’m going back to Daddy and 
Eliot, and I’m going to be happy at last. You’ve 
tried to do what you could to make me happy, but 
it wasn’t any use. You failed, but I thank you just 
the same. I can’t kiss you — I can’t act any more, 
so there’s an end of it!” 

Nora knelt before her daughter. She could not 
stay the cruel words, for she felt that they were 
true. She began to speak slowly at first, but as 
she went on, her words fell from her lips fever- 


3°8 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


ishly, at times, incoherently, for she was growing 
desperate. She must try to retrieve herself at this 
crucial moment. She must make another effort 
to keep her. 

“I married your father, dear, when I was very 
unhappy. I believed that my mission was to write. 
I was young, and believed myself of greater im- 
portance than I really was. I was just a woman 
with ambition to succeed, but I thought that love 
was not necessary to further my desires. You 
think me a sinful woman, but — don’t answer, and 
don’t look at me! I married your father for a 
home, and though I did not know it — for love. 
When he did not give me love, I should have been 
relieved, but I was not. I was unsatisfied, and I 
believed that it was because I did not have enough 
success with my work. I had always thought of 
my work, ever since I began to write. I could 
think of nothing else, at least I thought I could 
not. I wanted sympathy in that. Your father 
could not give it to me, so I fancied I was misun- 
derstood, and that I could not bear to live with 
him any longer. I thought I did not love him, 
but, God forgive me! I believe I loved him from 
the first. Do you understand how that can be? 
To be in love and not know it? No, don’t answer! 
I was blind, because I could only think of myself — 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


309 


of my work — don’t you see, but you must — you 
say nothing — I asked you not to — but you must be 
beginning to understand, you do, don’t you? You 
need not answer, unless you care to — I shall under- 
stand. I cannot complain if you don’t — it has all 
been my fault from the beginning. I left your 
father, because I believed that I needed love, that 
I had never had it, and Druce gave it to me. You 
are not old enough to understand, but his love was 
different from any other love I had ever known. 
It swept me off my feet, and I believed that I was 
happy for the first time in my life. But, dear, it 
has all been a bubble — like the kind you used to 
blow with a clay pipe, when you were very little, 
dear, and now it has burst. It has taken a long 
time to disappear, years, dearest little daughter, but 
I have learnt my lessons! I wronged your father. 
I wronged you and Eliot, and I am sorry. If you 
leave me, you will take away the only love I have 
left, the only real love. I would make amends, but 
it is too late. What I have done, for that I must 
suffer, and do suffer a hundred fold. It is just, 
it is the law. I have lost the power to write, and 
if you go, I shall feel that I have almost lost the 
power to live. Wanda, dear, don’t leave me — you 
won’t — you know too, that I have lost my last 
friend in death — Sheeda Macaulay! You won’t 


3io 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


leave me, my darling, will you, after all I’ve told 
you, and it’s been so hard — so hard. Wanda — 
Wanda!” 

She looked up at the chair where Wanda had 
been sitting, and it was empty ! The child had gone. 

With dry eyes, she stared into the fire for a long 
time. Then her glance fell upon two letters. They 
were lying on the dressing-table. She took up the 
first. One look was enough. The writing was 
in the same hand as that other letter, the one 
hidden in her desk. She would read them both. 
The first one, and then, this. There could be no 
harm. She opened her desk, and drew out the 
letter, which was slightly discolored. 

The opening sentence told the story. Druce 
had been married before, and, oh heavens ! was still 
married when he went through the ceremony with 
her. She was not married to him at all! 

She sat down at the dressing-table, and began 
brushing her hair, regularly, like an automaton. 
She went on brushing — brushing — brushing ! 

Her eyes wandered. What was it she was seek- 
ing? It was the other letter. She was becoming 
confused. How foolish! The letter was from 
Druce. She read his letter. It left her unmoved. 
She seemed to have lost the power of feeling. 
She had loved this man, and now he was dead. He 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


3 11 

had a wife already, when he had married her. It 
had not been his fault. No, it had not been his 
fault. But that did not make matters any better 
for her. Even if she still loved him she would have 
no right to love him, for she was not his wife, never 
had been his wife. She passed her hand wearily 
across her forehead. 

The last letter was left to read. She opened it. 
It was addressed to her. Why was that? Because 
the writer said that Druce would not answer, and 
she wished to make atonement before she died! 
Druce had married before, but it had been to her 
sister Jenny, and she was dead. The writer went 
on to say that she had been poor, starving, and 
had been tempted to this great sin because of her 
poverty. Then she had been ill, and unable to fol- 
low it up, thank God. Now she was dying of an 
incurable disease, but before her Maker took her, 
she wanted to make amends if she could. 

Nora read the closing words : — 

“I feared that you might hear, and I could not 
bear that you should suffer, for you were innocent. 
I want you to know that Druce did desert my sister, 
the sister I loved, and swore to avenge, but Fve 
forgiven him now, as I hope myself to be for- 
given.” 

She had been his wife then, after all! It was a 


3 12 


THE WIFE DECIDES 


relief to feel that she would still be able to look 
other people in the face without flinching! 

She picked up the letters, and walked over to 
the fireplace, where a small fire burned fitfully. She 
tossed the letters one by one into its heart, and 
stared fixedly at the rising flames. 

“My life has been one long, bitter mistake! I 
see it all now. Wantonly I threw away the love 
of a good man. Another I married for what I be- 
lieved was love. I lost even its shell! I have lost 
friends — my children — all !” 

Tears fell down her white cheeks, and still she 
stood there gazing into the fire as if hypnotized. 

All at once, she began to tremble. Then she fell 
upon her knees, and asked God’s help to make her 
see and to tread the right way ! 


The End 




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